Methyl Nitrate Pineapples
by razbliuto
Summary: Sometimes you have to take a few detours before you find your way home. LawOC, sort of.
1. it begins with poison

**Notes**: This story contains a fair amount of adventure, a healthy dosage of humor, a few sprinklings of pineapples, and perhaps a smidgen of romance with no OOC behavior or Mary Sues (as far as I know). Regardless of my blatant self-praise, I must warn you that this fanfic is kind of ridiculous because I didn't exactly write it in the sanest of minds... but then again, who needs sanity when you have One Piece? Critiques are _much_ appreciated.  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own One Piece, and etc.

* * *

**methyl nitrate pineapples  
verse one  
**

_don't fear the reaper,_ or: _it begins with poison_

* * *

Shells whistled through the heavy rain and slammed against a steel-fortified Marine shelter, setting the giant Red Cross ablaze.

Evacuating citizens of Vira scrambled away as the sign crashed to the ground. Clashing steel and gunshots rang out in the distance, and forks of lighting cracked through the sky. They illuminated shadows fighting among the sheer cliffs, pressing closer with every flash of blinding white.

"Hurry! Ships are waiting to take you to safety!" a Marine captain shouted, pointing his gun toward the harbor. A group of soldiers were feverishly stamping out the fire.

"Sir, we're losing ground on the front!" a ragged recruit yelled over the clamor.

"Damn the Revolutionaries," the captain cursed under his breath. "Get the injured on board! Before another round of… oh shi—"

* * *

The shelter walls shuddered and shook with the onslaught of mortars. Dust streamed from the corners. Dying moans and screams echoed down every corridor, and all hands available had to make up for the doctor shortage. For one particular chemist-turned-combat-medic, this meant getting pulled from her hiding spot under a desk and kicked into an operating room.

"Bandages! Sophie, I need more bandages!"

"Where are the IV packs? Sophie, check the supply closet!"

"Oi, Strangways, the bathroom ran out of toilet paper again!"

"What the pineapples is wrong with you people!? For the _last time_, I am in a Very Stressful Situation!" an irate blonde hollered, and accidentally tugged on the thread and needle gripped in her fists. The man on the operating table twitched violently.

"_Ahhh, it hurts_! Ahh… ha ha ha…"

The poor marine giggled wildly and then sunk into a dazed stupor. Sophie wiped her forehead in relief (never again shall she underestimate the powers of laughing gas!), before remembering—_why hello there, blood_. Concentrating on only inhaling through her mouth, she slowly and meticulously began to stitch the gash up.

It was a clean shot through the bone; the bullet hadn't lodged inside the body, which was good. The problem was how to handle all this blood loss. She squinted at the needle, and then shifted it so that it was perpendicular with her index finger. She carefully edged the needle into the skin, threaded it quickly, and then whipped out her ruler. Five centimeters apart, evenly spaced, two inches long. She exhaled. Three stitches down, eight more to go.

"Strangways! Where the hell is that toilet paper?" a voice behind her demanded.

"_Mangos_!" Sophie swore and sucked on her bleeding thumb. She turned around, hissing flames, "I'm in the middle of an operation so get someone else to wipe your—AAH MY CHASTITY PUT ON SOME PANTS."

"IV! Sophie, where's that IV?"

"My guy lost a nose, any of you seen it?"

She slammed her fists on the operating table, gnashing her teeth.

"The _pain_," the marine sobbed.

"Shut up!" Sophie exploded at her patient. Fortunately for her, he was too drugged up to notice. Sophie pointed at the crowd. "IV and bandages are in the supply closet, and _you_ can use banana leaves to clean up for all I care! Get out before I have to cremate another dead patient! _Get out, get out, get out_!"

She breathed harshly through her nose as the door swung shut, willing herself to calm down lest she break out in nervous tics.

Sophie tore off her perfectly clean surgeon's gloves and strapped on a new pair. The laughing gas would be wearing off by now. She reached for a syringe that carried a one-hundred and twenty milligram dose of anesthesia, and injected it into her patient. One hundred and twenty… Sophie considered, and then injected another dose. Two-hundred forty. Well, one more couldn't hurt… three-hundred sixty. Pretty number. A full circle.

The door burst open. "Sophie!"

"_Gahh_!"

The marine, completely numb from the neck down, started snoring.

Charaka Hippo, the man in charge over the medic squad, stood panting at the door. His glasses were smudged with dust. "We're evacuating!" he yelled, peeling off his bloodied gloves and tossing them on the floor. "There's a ship waiting out in the harbor, leave everything and—_stop_ that!"

Sophie guiltily sprang to her feet, clutching his gloves. "B-but th-the floor will get dirty!"

As if it wasn't already—streaks of blood marred the tiles, which had turned grey over the last few days of constant bombing. The stink of death and sulfur filled every crevice the operating room. Sophie herself looked completely deranged with her soot-stained curls sticking up everywhere and manic expression.

Hippo glanced up at the shaking ceiling. "Never _mind_ that, let's go!"

"B-but I-I'm not done!"

He smacked himself in the face, strode over, and grabbed the needle. Sophie's eyes widened. "Um—wait, sensei, I was—"

In three quick strokes, the very pale-faced marine had a row of squiggly black thread running down his chest. Sophie gaped, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"Follow me!" Hippo shouted over the sound of the walls bending over and yells of other doctors. He slung the marine over one shoulder and pushed the thunderstruck blonde through the door.

"But now it's—now it's—_uneven_!" Sophie wailed.

He ignored her, and she remembered at the last moment to grab her lighter and stick it in her pocket before stumbling out. Her sniffles were drowned out by the torrential rain as they joined the surge outside into the ruins of what had once been a Marine base camp.

The harbor was nearly deserted; all the other refugee ships had long since fled except for one. Sophie looked over her shoulder, chills crawling up her spine. She couldn't clearly discern the battle through the storm, but three months spent in war had generated a sort of intuition in Sophie: the rebels were fighting loyalists and Marines back onto the shore. And the further they retreated, the more likely the battle was about to hit the shelter.

"The captain's not breathing!" someone screamed.

Sophie whirled around, searching for the voice, and abruptly stumbled over a bloody marine. She about to reach down to help her—but then Hippo yanked on her wrist.

"The woman's dead!" he snapped. "Don't stop moving!"

Another mortar hit the edge of the ruined base and sent shrapnel flying through the wind. Sophie could barely hear Hippo hollering orders to other civilians. The screams had resurged and lightning clapped deafeningly in the black sky.

She fell behind Hippo, who was relaying orders to a marine, and helped other injured marines who were being rushed from the shelter. Some were well past their prime and some looked even younger than her, wheeled on stretchers and bleeding from their heads, and their arms, and their mouths—

Thunder boomed and Sophie instantly stopped moving, scant inches short from the pier.

She took thirteen steps. Prime number. Bad number. Her insides churned just thinking about it. She shuffled forward two more steps, balanced thoughtfully on her right leg, and then stepped down with her left. Sixteen steps. Four squared. Good number. She breathed out in relief.

"_Get down_!" someone srieked, and Sophie felt a rush of heat behind her before the shelter combusted in a roar of fire.

Something whacked the side of her head and she was thrown against the wooden planks. "Pineapples, pineapples, _pineapples_," she muttered under her breath, scrambling upward and nursing a giant, painful bump on her head.

Two poorly-aimed bombs splashed harmlessly into the ocean and exploded. The furious waves rocked the last refugee ship.

"Sophie!" Hippo yelled over the storm, "_Hurry_!"

The ship was leaving.

Sophie sprinted toward the edge of the pier. She saw Hippo fighting to get to the starboard side, heard him shout, "Stop the damn ship! My daughter still hasn't boarded!"

She stretched out a hand, reaching for the ladder, and in a burst of impulsiveness her feet left the pier (_twelve steps even, ha_!). Then a shell hit the docks, sending her flying through the air as the background blew up and the music swelled, hair flying across her face and eyes tearing up with the strain as her fingers brushed the ladder and—

Sophie smacked her face on the side of the ship and belly-flopped into the ocean.

Her ears roared and the world turned dark and smothering. Sophie pinched her nose with one hand and swam upward, breaking the surface with a pained gasp. She couldn't open her left eye. Oh holy pineapples, if she got a black eye because of this…

She heard the mortars _wheeee_ from the skies and dove back underwater, curling up into a ball. The muffled bombs exploded and she was helplessly tossed around by the icy current. Panic, real, cold panic, seized her and gripped her frantic heart. She struggled for air just as another bomb hit, sending her somersaulting past sinking debris and floating fish. Sophie gritted her teeth. If only she could make it to the ship—

She clawed her way to the surface, sputtering like mad. Sophie floundered blindly for anything that floated; her fingers poked something squishy and wet. Rubbing water from her eyes, she opened them and grimaced.

Squishy, wet, and very, very _dead_ would be more appropriate.

She grabbed the second closest thing—the remains of the charred Red Cross sign—and took a moment to hack out seawater and catch her breath. The refugee ship was nothing more than a small grey speck on the horizon.

"Get b-b-back here you sons of b-barnacles," she bellowed, shaking her fist.

After a few more seconds of raging, Sophie slumped over, groaning. She would've started swimming already, if she didn't have any damned Sea Kings to worry about.

"I should go back to V-Vira and ask f-for help," she chattered, hugging her arms. "Maybe the o-other marines could g-give me a ship ride back to the base…"

She laughed shortly. That was a brilliant idea. And then she'd step onto the beach, hand someone a nice shiny gun, and invite them to play target practice with her head—a more entertaining alternative to walking straight into a gory civil war.

She smacked herself on the forehead, and then hit herself again, because she hated doing things in ones. "Of course! S-Sophie, you are so stupid, why didn't y-you think of it sooner…"

A few minutes later, she squatted on top of a barely-there pile of wooden planks—her makeshift raft, wrapped in wet rope and kelp. Her bare toes gripped the dismembered wood. With a determined huff, she rolled up her sleeves and started paddling with a broken piece of timber. It was do or die and Sophie really wasn't much for dying.

"It'll hold," she said forcefully. "It's _definitely_ hold until I get to the next island."

Peering out into the rain, she failed to notice the enormous galleon trailing behind her until a black shadow fell over the water and goosebumps popped up her arms.

Her good eye bugged as she stared up at the dark, dragon-shaped figurehead, illuminated by a flash of lightning.

She giggled hysterically. "Oh mango—"

The stack of wood broke apart in her hands, and a huge wave crashed over Sophie, dragging her down into the depths.

* * *

An IV drip blurred into view.

Slowly surfacing back into the conscious world, Sophie blinked blearily up at the bright lights that—wait, ceiling lights? A heart monitor? IV drips? The smell of sterilized metal? Rejoice, she'd been rescued! The Marines actually came back for her! She was just about to sink back into a sweet, painless unconsciousness when she glanced to the side and—

The IV faced the wrong direction.

Sophie stared at it, utterly horrified. It was completely misaligned to the other machinery and just no no _no_ the balance was not right, not right at all. She squinted to tell it that _it was not going to get away with this_.

She started to push herself into sitting position, but her limbs refused to comply. Sophie could feel the leather rubbing against her skin. Someone buckled restraints on her. But the IV—_but the IV_!

"Good, you're awake," a distinctly masculine voice spoke from somewhere next to the heart monitor. "How old are you?"

Her mouth felt thick when she opened it. Sophie tried speaking, and it sounded like, "Ubleugghsafjdkn?"

"Your age, Miss."

She swallowed, coughed out a hairball, and then croaked out, "Ni… nineteen. Where am I?" She'd meant to ask what Marine division he belonged to, but four words drew enough pain.

There was a sound of a chair wheeling over and a dark, lean figure appeared against the lights. She picked apart his appearance: doctor's coat. Fluffy hat. Gold earrings. His legs were crossed and a clipboard rested in his lap, one arm thrown over the back of the chair. His posture screamed boredom. Sophie looked up at his face. Tan skin, black eyes, easygoing smile. No, not boredom.

There was a strange prickling of alarm in the back of her mind.

"On a vessel," he said simply, scrawling things on the clipboard. "You've suffered no severe wounds; just a minor swelling over your left eye and some bruises here and there. Prime condition," he muttered, and reached towards her. A paper cup pressed against her lips. "Water. Drink."

The water soothed her raw throat immensely. While she drained the cup, her gaze flickered to the clipboard and Sophie read his handwriting upside down. _Blonde, blue-eyed, nineteen, avg. height, underfed for approx. one month, poss. due to lack of substantial rations at Vira_—

She accidentally snorted water up her nose. The smoke from the battleground seeped into her lungs and dark shadows were bleeding, screaming, crying for help—

"How did you know?" she demanded. "That I was at—at—"

"I find a bloody and unconscious marine a few miles from an island where a coup d'état is taking place. It's not a very difficult leap." He crumbled the paper cup in his fist and tossed it over his shoulder.

Her gut clenched. "Well, you know how HQ is," she shrugged. "Always so anal about stationing you in the middle of violent civil wars." Never mind the fact that _she _was the one who asked to be stationed there…

He chuckled like he found Sophie's lame joke extremely amusing. There was something odd about the way he studied her, the way he kept on smiling. "You're a combat medic, correct?"

"Correct. You know this how?"

He held up her shirt. "Identification tag."

Oh.

"To be more exact, I'm actually a chemist." She shifted. "As for why I was with the medic squad at Vira… it's a boring story."

The doctor got up to rummage around the contents of a drawer, his back facing her. "You must love working for the Marines if you enjoy bleeding for them," he said over his shoulder.

Sophie wasn't sure if she imagined his sarcastic tone. "I don't work _for _the Marines," she returned sourly. "I work _with_ the World Government." It struck her that she was being suspicious of the man who had _saved her life_. Hippo would be so disappointed. Sophie hastily tried to rectify her behavior by adding, "And, um, you know, if you ever find your job lacking, I can get you a place in a real medical facility. As thanks for saving me."

"'A real medical facility…'" Okay, Sophie definitely didn't imagine the scorn there. "I'm afraid I'll have to refuse your generous offer, Miss." The doctor turned around, strapping on a pair of latex gloves and wielding a syringe filled with a brown liquid. "I'm perfectly comfortable with my line of work. There are just so many…" his smile stretched, turning sharp and cruel, "_possibilities_."

The situation just turned decidedly creepier. Sophie laughed nervously, nose twitching. "Right. Yeah, anyway, I am grateful to you for saving my life and everything, but I feel a lot better now. So I need my clothes back… and if you could free me from these, um, restraints—that would be highly appreciated?"

He rubbed his goatee, considering. "To the second, I really can't be bothered, and to the first, you'll be dead anyway so there's no point." He tested the syringe and a bit of the liquid squirted into the air. "Ah, the putrid stench of parathion."

He allowed brief pause, wherein Sophie heard the sound of a ten-ton anvil drop in her stomach. Parathion. C10H14NO5PS. Acts on the acetylcholinesterase enzyme… to disrupt the nervous system… wait, no, that… couldn't be right…

"But," she said weakly, "but that stuff is _toxic_."

"Three stars for you, Miss Chemist. The smallest drop can kill a man in fifteen minutes. It'll be quite fun recording the effects of an overdose… you're in prime condition for testing, after all."

Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. "I was an idiot for thinking this was a Marine ship."

"You were," he agreed. "It's a pirate one, Miss, captained by Trafalgar Law." He mockingly inclined his head. "At your service."

The needle glinted in the light.

"…D-Do you like money?" Sophie blurted out desperately. "I h-have lots of money! And gold! I'm a leading scientist at G-13, the Marine base that specializes in chemical warfare. Why kill me when you can ransom me? My superiors will give so much beli that you'll be able to live off of it for the rest of your—"

He fisted a hand in her blonde curls and jerked her head back.

"Where should I begin? Should I go the standard route and use the inside of the elbow?" The pirate twisted her head to the side. "Or maybe the neck? The eyes? Maybe I should inject it straight into the brain. So many options, what to pick, what to pick…" A thumb jammed into Sophie's mouth and dragged it open. "The gums would be particularly painful," he squished her cheeks together so her lips puckered like extremely chapped fish, "_and _it'd shut your nauseatingly loud mouth up… or perhaps I should just force you to swallow it whole."

He laughed, a strangely pleasant sound, not at all suited for his dark smile. The tip of the needle hovered right over her throat.

"I've got a nice idea," he hummed. "A poisoned apple. Yes, I do like the sound of that. Forcing you to eat your own death."

Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to restrain her stutters. No good. "W-w-why d-did you fix me up if you were only waiting to k-k-kill me? You should've j-j-j-just let me d-die!"

A very, very cold hand touched the side of her face. "Though it may seem contrary to the current situation, I'm not completely heartless." The needle ghosted around her jaw. He had grey eyes, Sophie realized with an odd jolt, not black. "A killer, yes. A pirate, obviously. But first and foremost, I am a doctor. I do occasionally enjoy exercising those rights… Besides," he added, "there's no fun in just _letting_ someone d—"

Something slammed against the operating room and pain burst through Sophie's head. Everything suddenly became very dark. She broke out in cold sweat. Oh no, was this it? She could see a faint light. _Goodbye, Hippo, it's been fun_—oh. Oh, wait.

Sophie opened her eyes.

The IV drip lay across her stomach—that must've been what had hit her—and medicine bottles and dangerous-looking utensils were rattling in the cabinets; the entire room was shaking. A tray of scalpels spun dangerously near Sophie. Something heavy clanged against the ship and echoed into the operating room.

A voice rang out from the brass tube protruding from the wall. "Captain! There's an emergency!"

"What did I tell you about disrupting me when I'm operating?" the pirate yelled back.

This was her chance! Sophie started to agonizingly wiggle her hands free.

A loud boom pounded through the steel walls. "Sorry! But—_Shachi, duck_!—but there are two Marine battleships heading this way! They mean to intercept us before we reach Crawfish Island!"

_Hell yeah_! She did a mental pelvic thrust of victory. One wrist free! One more to go…

"They only sent two? Well, I've been meaning to get a higher bounty…" He grabbed a long sword leaning against the desk and shouted, "Pull up and stand by for my orders. Tell the men they better be ready to go wild!"

There was a jarring roar of sound at the other end. "_Aye aye, Captain_!"

He glanced over at Sophie, who instantly became motionless. Act cool, act cool, cool as an ice cube…

"Think you've somehow managed a narrow escape?"

That was exactly what she was thinking. "Actually, I was just saying my last prayers," she said flatly.

And before she had any time to protest, he jammed the syringe into the heel of her foot. A garbled, choked cry wrangled itself out of Sophie's throat as electricity shot through her leg, so fierce it felt like death.

"Good. I can at least cut off your poisoned foot and run some tests on it, after you die." He calmly assessed her desperate gasps for air, like how someone might inspect a dying bug under a microscope. "It's been nice knowing you, Miss…?"

"Go get e-eaten by a Sea K-King," she panted, glaring unfocusedly at the three blurring heads of Trafalgar Law.

He just laughed and kicked the door shut behind him, lock snapping in place.

Finally alone, Sophie _screamed_. She threw her all her weight against the restraints, pushing, straining, overcome with desperation. Her head pounded like someone was punching her repeatedly in the face, but her mind was going haywire. Parathion metabolizes to paraoxon, oxidases replaces sulfur with oxygen, first exposure symptoms: nausea, poor vision, muscle spasms; final symptoms: respiratory arrest, death.

Gaah, she took classes on this! Didn't she have to dislocate her thumbs? Or maybe those were for handcuffs… oh, of all the classes to sleep through… She squeezed her eyes shut and finally managed to yank her other wrist from the bonds… so now she had two hands flopping uselessly next to her legs.

"_P-p-pineapples_!"

Her eyes flickered over to the tray with all the scalpels on it. It was near—really near.

She stretched her fingers out, urgently straining for the end of a scalpel that was scant millimeters out of her reach. "Come on… please, please, _please_…"

With a hiss of triumph, she grasped the blade—a line of red appearing on her palm—and flipped it around her shaking fingers so she gripped the handle. Sophie pressed sharp metal to leather and started sawing. If she could just cut through the restraint on her forearms, then she could unbuckle the rest with no difficulty. Her teeth dragged on her bottom lip.

_One minute… _pineapples, the leather wasn't cutting easily…

_Two minutes_… faint explosions boomed against the ship…the pirate might be coming back soon…

_Three_…

Finally, Sophie fell over the side of the table and attacked the floor with her face. She crawled over to the medical cabinets—which were locked, what brilliance—raised herself to her knees, and smashed her fists through the glass.

Her eyes bugged.

"Holy m-m-mangos, you could knock out a whale with all these drugs!"

Right. She was currently dying of parathion poisoning. This was not the time. _Think, Sophie, think_, parathion was a chemical weapon, she'd worked on it before and even recommended autoinjectors of the cure to be carried by the marines… and the cure was… was…

…Atropine! Of course! Even an idiot's gotta have some in his ship!

She plunged her hands in and grabbed a fistful of white bottles. Her vision swam—_oh fudgeapples_. Sophie leaned over and loudly emptied her stomach of the contents she had ingested earlier that morning, which basically consisted of seawater and greyish bits of expired potato. Sophie sunk on all fours, wheezing and fumbling through the bottles.

Atropine.

Her nose was less than an inch above the neat label. Atropine, one hundred milligrams a pill. Snatching the bottle up with shaking hands, she twisted the cap open and popped two pills in her mouth.

Sophie slumped against wall, gripping her trembling hands together, eyes shut.

She sat there for some time, mentally reciting all the elements on the periodic table, and when that was done, their atomic symbols, and when _that_ was done, their atomic weight. Slowly, little by little, she found it in her to stand back up. But she wasn't out of danger yet; her foot was numb, chances of paralysis high if she didn't get the poison in it drained. And excess atropine was toxic; she couldn't rely on that…

Sophie heard distant shouts, the sounds of battle, eerily reminiscent of Vira. _Good_, she thought vindictively. She hoped that rotten plum got his leg blown off.

Gritting her teeth, Sophie hopped over to the desk, where (she started laughing, because she was getting hysterical at this point) all her dirty clothes had been neatly folded—unmentionables included. Didn't that mean…? _Not the time,_ she chided herself as she changed into her Marine uniform and wrapped her foot tightly with bandages to make it easier to walk on. For precaution's sake, she also stuck the scalpel in her pocket.

Now what to do about that locked door…

A thrown desk, two flying chairs, and multiple attacks with a surgeon's saw later, Sophie belatedly realized that, no, unlike the books she's read, this was not enough to break out of a steel door.

_You fail at life,_ said an extremely nasty voice in her head.

"I'm kind of _new to this_," Sophie hissed under her breath, eyes narrowed and twitchy. Great. Now what was she going to do?

She started pulling open cabinets and overturning drawers. There had to be something she could work with in one of those medicine bottles.

Think, think, think _thinkthinkthink_ what sort of medicine would a doctor carry that could bust open a steel door… alkaline metals? No, definitely impossible—nitrocellulose? Acetone peroxide? Raw sodium? Would he have any of those? _Think, Sophie, think_—_you spent your whole life blowing things up for fun_! Nitroglycerin, ethanol… wait a minute… ethanol…

Five minutes later, she set a roll of tape, a jar (she had to dump out an eyeball), and two bottles of isopropyl rubbing alcohol on the operating table. The latter was used as an antiseptic, but it also had over seventy percent of pure, concentrated ethanol. When she finished pouring, the jar was cheerfully swishing with medicine/flammable fluid and taped to the steel door. Now she needed fire.

…Oh, as if things would ever be that convenient.

She had no way of making a spark, and besides, with all these drugs in the room, she would bet a tooth that the psycho doctor fireproofed _everything_.

Sophie sat down heavily on the operating table. She was so, so close… but this was it. She really was going to die on a pirate ship. Though, in all honestly, the revelation of her dying place wasn't as depressing as her next thought: she was going to die without a last smoke.

If things were going the way Sophie imagined in her mind, she would have busted out of that door ages ago, contacted Hippo, boarded one of those Marine battleships while making immature faces at Trafawhatever and the rest of his evil, pox-marked crew as they were send to the brig, reached into her pocket like so, and a beautiful box of cigarettes would appear in one hand, her favorite lighter in the other, and she'd give herself a celebratory smoke…

Sophie blinked down at her hand, which clenched said favorite lighter.

"And next, one hundred million beli will appear!" she said loudly. Nothing happened. "Okay, so I don't have magic powers…"

She hopped off the table. Right, back at Vira…

(_He ignored her, and she remembered at the last moment to grab her lighter and stick it in her pocket before stumbling out_.)

That brief moment of giving into her addiction had saved her!

"I love you," Sophie murmured reverently, and kissed the lighter.

Revitalized, she vehemently ripped off a long piece of cloth from her ex-hospital gown (it rather stress-reducing) and twisted it, then soaked it in rubbing alcohol and plugged up the jar. The heat and pressure combined would hopefully make the alcohol burst into flames and explode.

She flicked the lighter. A tiny flame cheerfully burst into life, greeting Sophie with the sweet smell of smoke. She waved her ring finger over it, relishing the sizzle as yet another burn mark was added to the generous repertoire of scars on her hands.

_Any last words? _the mean, nasally voice in her head asked.

"Shut up," Sophie said serenely, "and let's just enjoy the music."

She lit the makeshift wick and leaped to the ground.

Seconds later, a _bang_ and an explosion of air swept through the room. Bottles and scalpels and glass crashed onto the floor, but it wasn't as loud as she expected… or was used to. Sophie uncovered her head. Through the haze, she examined what once was a perfectly sterilized operating room.

…Trafalgar Law was not going to be a happy doctor.

The steel door swayed a little, barely torn off one hinge. But that was enough for Sophie to wiggle through.

"Nicotine, oh nicotine, how I've missed you so," she sighed.

She peeked at the peculiar metal pipes that lined the walls—man, this was a _weird_ ship. Shrugging, Sophie stuffed the lighter in her pocket with the scalpel and slipped away. A few seconds later, she sneaked back into the room, turned the IV drip so it was parallel to the other machines, and bolted off again.

* * *

She couldn't move.

Sophie wasn't blocked by the evil doctor, or any of his evil, pillaging minions, no. She wasn't stopped by a Sea King, or a row of spikes threatening to shred her skin to pieces.

There was… a mud stain.

A mud stain on the floor, with a turned-over bucket of water and a wet mop beside it, clearly having been abandoned when the alarm rang out. But that wasn't the point. The point was: it was a huge, ugly lump of mud. Whoever had been cleaning this filthy hunk of metal should be forced to walk the plank! Or, you know, at least fired! What a disgrace! What an absolute ignominy! Even Sophie felt pity and embarrassment for this poor—

_No_.

Sophie forced her face forward. In her rather short time spent trying to escape, she figured out she was in a submarine—which foiled all her decent, half-mapped out plans. How the pineapples was she supposed to escape from a—

The mud stain was mocking her. Mocking. Her.

_So close, Sophie. You are so close to the exit. Don't stop for a stupid stain on a stupid pirate ship! If you stop I'll smack you all the way to the Red Line! _

She shuffled her toes forward, millimeter by millimeter.

_Square numbers! Detergent! Bleach! Soap! Freshly-cut fingernails! Four! Nine! Sixteen! Twenty-five! Thirty-six! Four… oh, for the love of Sengoku, that pirate only missed one stain, how difficult is it to just mop off that _one_ stain before running off to go kill a few marines—_

"—I mean honestly, _it's not that very d-d-difficult_!" she yelled in aggravation, grabbed the broom, and started to vigorously attack the stain.

And once that was done, Sophie suddenly noticed how dirty the floor was around the little clean spot. Well that just wouldn't do… She pulled up the sleeves of her shirt and gripped the mop like a sword. When she was finally done, the entire passageway was sparkling—_glittering_, even. Sophie wiped her brow with a satisfied sigh… cleanliness was indeed a true sign of happiness.

A large shadow fell over her shoulder. Filled with trepidation, she looked up.

"Aye?" The big, fluffy polar bear blinked. "A marine?"

She slapped a hand over her nose. _Get a grip, Sophie!_ But she couldn't. It was just—too—_too—_gaah, damn you nosebleeds!

"Here." Sophie handed the mop over and bowed. "I cleaned up for you."

"Ah, thanks—"

But Sophie was already limping as fast as she could limp out of the hallway, blood spewing through her fingers. The sub was at the surface! As long as they didn't pull down, she could escape through one of those hatches at the top, right? She clambered up a steel ladder, praying for the universe's temporary suspension of the seemingly ubiquitous Murphy's Law—

"We're landing at Crawfish Island tonight, ya bastards!"

Why, Universe, _why,_ Sophie sobbed.

Hurried footsteps were heading her way. "Oi, oi, careful on the ladder!" a voice yelled. "If you get even _more _blood on the sub, Captain might have a fit."

Sweet son of a clamshell, was there a _thing _between ladders and Super Mega Bad Things Happening? Cursing herself for not noticing that the battle had already stopped, Sophie quickly slid back down to the floor and jerked open door number one.

"Gaahh!" Sophie squeaked as a tower of falling brooms appeared over her.

She ended up sprawled beneath a pile of wooden sticks, dust and cobwebs clinging to her clothes. She glared at the brooms, feeling betrayed.

There was noise like someone jumped onto the floor. "C'mon, Penguin! We're supposed to check if the patient is a corpse yet."

Muttering swears, she grabbed the traitorous brooms and whooshed inside the closet, closing the door behind her with a quiet snap. In the dim light, she could see a large, hairy arachnid dangling on a fine thread right in front of her nose. She nervously smiled at it as she dabbed her nose with her shirt.

Another person landed on the floor. "Too bad it had to be a girl. And the Captain wouldn't even let us take a peek. I mean… you know, even if she was damn ugly…"

She scowled._ Yeah, thanks._

"At least we're at port now, huh?" A happy sigh. "After three weeks I'll finally get to bask in the presence of _women_."

Her foot throbbed in an unexpected flare of pain. Unconsciously reaching down, Sophie bashed her elbow against the wall. Her eyes bugged. "_Homunnghf_!"

"What was that?"

She clapped her hands over her mouth.

"What was what?"

"I thought I heard…from down the hall…"

A bead of sweat trickled down her chin. The shadows underneath the door shifted.

There wasn't any room for her to crouch down and hide! Buckets and frying pans and broken anatomical models and other random stuff that _definitely_ did not belong in a broom closet were surrounding her. One wrong move and it would all tumble down. She dug her hands into her pocket, remembering the scalpel she stole earlier. Sophie clutched it tightly. She could pull a feint—aim at his heart, dodge away at the last second, and run as if hellhounds were snapping at her ankles. She could—maybe—probably…

The footsteps paused right outside the door. Sophie stopped breathing.

"Eh, Bepo? What the hell're you doing?"

Sophie perked up. Bepo, the bear pirate filled with adorable squishiness! She pressed her hands against the door and tried to peer through the crack of light…and felt like the weirdest pervert ever…

"The patient escaped."

Sophie squinted. _Pineapples_.

"WHAT THE HELL, YOU TALKING BEAR?"

"I'm sorry…"

"SO WEAK!"

"S-stop! This isn't the time! We have to tell Captain about this!"

"Ah! Right! Bepo, where did you last see her?"

"Down over there. She was cleaning."

"Like… cleaning blood off a knife or something?" one pirate asked slowly.

"Nope. She was mopping the floor."

There was a long, befuddled silence. Sophie felt strangely mortified. So what if she enjoyed cleaning? It was perfectly normal to want to eradicate every single bacterium in existence, wasn't it?

The other pirate sighed pityingly. "Poor girl. What experiment did Captain do to her head?"

Sophie glared at the door, fuming.

"Okay, Bepo, Captain's in the kitchen, alert him about the patient. Shachi, let's go check the operating room."

The footsteps pattered away and all Sophie was left with was a hurt ego and the smell of dank mold. After waiting a few seconds, she tentatively peeked out into the deserted hallway.

It seemed escaping from the top of the submarine was out. But Sophie got a better idea…

Beyond the porthole was a cerulean sky speckled with thin streaks of white. If she craned her neck enough, she could see the tide rolling onto the beach and a clump of tall, swaying trees running along the curve of land. This was what she left G-13 to see. And now here she was, seeing it behind the porthole of a pirate submarine. Life was ironic.

Sophie inspected the glass pane. This would be a bit unorthodox, but…

"There's a first time for everything," she muttered to herself, running her hands along the latch.

It took three bleeding fingers and one hangnail, but Sophie somehow managed to pry the porthole open. She grabbed hold of the rim and shoved herself through it, legs first.

Inch by inch, arm cramp after arm cramp, Sophie shimmied her way out with a pop, inhaled quickly, and dropped into the ocean. The splash was instantly muffled. Bubbles followed her descent and the sea wrapped her feverish skin in a cool, calming blanket. Her hair rippled and swirled like a golden cloud, almost ethereal against the blue depths.

Sophie opened her eyes and kicked upwards.

The air was salty and fresh, and it tasted of freedom. She took in the squawking gulls, the sunlight sparkling on the waves, the island just ahead. She could see a town right at the edge of the beach; she could find help there, and safety, and life was wonderful.

A large smile breaking across her face, Sophie started swimming towards shore.

* * *

Law tossed an apple up and down as he surveyed the damage.

Glass, medicine bottles, and atropine pills were scattered across the floor. Cabinets had been broken into, chairs tossed clear across the room. A revolting smell wafted from the puddle next to the sink. Oddly enough, the IV was the only thing that looked untouched.

After a very long hush, Law took a step forward and kicked away a bloody eyeball. It knocked against the wall with a wet _squish_.

"That girl," he said quietly, "took my favorite scalpel."

"Maybe she drowned?" one pirate piped up, "After all, the poison—"

"The patient found the antidote and broke free using my rubbing alcohol. She cut through leather in her malnourished state on pure desperation alone." His assessment was coldly detached, as if he was simply stating the results of a diagnosis. "I'm certain she's already reached town."

"Well, why the hell're we standing around?" another pirate growled. "Let's find her, damn it!"

"You can't rush the perfect dissection," Law responded with a small smirk. "There's a method to this madness, after all, and it's been so long since I found such a curious specimen."

"Whoooa, Captain, you're so cool," the Heart pirates cheered from behind a corner.

With one last glance over the wreck of his operating room, he said, "Someone clean up this mess. Someone else get me a brain. I feel like burning something."

Law munched on the apple as he left. Shachi and Penguin eyed each other behind their captain's retreating back.

"I'll take the floor, you get the cabinets, and we'll leave Bepo the… brain?" Shachi proposed.

"Deal," Penguin agreed quickly.

_to be continued_

**More Notes**: If there are any chemically-inclined denizens of the internet reading this, please stretch your suspension of disbelief. I'm actually quite horrendous at chemistry, but I'm trying my best to research everything Strangways Sophie would know. I thought making my OC intelligent would be cool, but it ended being a super pain in the ass, goddamnit Sophie WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME.


	2. thirty miles to gator town

**Thank you's to these beautiful people**: _DrAnime203, camierose, Sheep, Liz, the everchanging_, and _Perpetual Concern_.  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own One Piece, and etc.

* * *

**methyl nitrate pineapples  
verse two**

_when i get low, i get high_, or: _thirty miles to gator town_

* * *

Sophie woke up a very familiar room.

"Good, you're awake," said a very familiar voice. "I've been dying to try this new heart procedure, but I just couldn't find any volunteers."

Chains were knotted around her wrists and neck and ankles, binding her to the table. Something like _oh god not again_ mixed with _so you like bondage, huh _was pushed aside to _doesn't matter, get me out_! She yanked, hard, but the chains began tightening. Sophie choked as it pressed against her neck, painfully hot.

A shadow stood above her. "I hope you don't mind I didn't give you any anesthesia. The pain and blood loss should knock you out soon enough, anyway."

She desperately fought the burning steel, so hot it was melting her insides and blackening her flesh. Sophie tried to scream, but her voice was choked by horrified fear. She was sinking. This was her hell, this was Vira, this was the Vice Admiral… and they were pulling her down.

"Fair warning, Miss Strangways: it has a death rate of one hundred percent."

He loomed over her evilly and revved up a chainsaw.

"_Eeyaauugh_!"

Sophie sat up so quickly she smacked her forehead and saw little pirate skulls spinning around in the air. "Holy pineapples stop I'm too young to die!" she wailed nonsensically, curling up into a little ball and pressed against the wall.

She lay there, shivering, for several seconds. Someone tapped her shoulder. "Excuse me… Miss?"

The unfamiliar voice sounded… wizened. But nice. Distinctively non-piratey. Sophie tentatively rolled around. She peeked up at an anxious-looking nurse and an old man with poufy white hair and a bright red spot on his chin. Sunlight filtered in through the open windows. A ceiling fan whirred loudly overhead. Oh. So she was at…_oh_.

Oooh crabapples…

"Umm…" Sophie smiled weakly. "That… was unintentional."

"It looks like the poison cleared up," the doctor laughed, sitting down beside her. "It warms my old heart to see my patients so lively."

"You'd be the first," she muttered under her breath.

The doctor blinked. "Hm?"

"What?" Sophie blinked back, folding the blanket in perfect, crisp ninety-degree angles.

"I thought I heard—oh, never mind an old man's ramblings. I have a few forms I need you to fill out, just for the records and all." He dipped a quill in ink and started scribbling on a sheet of paper. "First—you checked yourself in as Strangways Sophie. That_ is_ your real name, yes?"

"Uh-huh." She paused from rearranging her pillow. "Wait—I checked myself in?"

"Yes," he said distractedly, "Four days ago."

She gaped. "Four _days_?"

The doctor looked up. "You… don't remember anything?"

"Um." Sophie wracked her memories. "Was I choking a squirrel at any point?"

"It's understandable," the nurse assured. "You were in a state of near collapse. The poison in your body was attackin' your nervous system. You kept on crashin' into things an' dry-heavin' everywhere…"

Sophie felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. If that stupid, crazy, idiot, psychotic, murdering pirate hadn't tried to kill her… _ugh_. Thankfully, a knock on the door distracted Sophie from her plans to sink in the ground and die. Another doctor appeared, beckoning toward the nurse.

"Room Five," she muttered. "A marine just woke up. We need to get him under anesthesia."

The nurse looked troubled. "Right. I'll leave this t' you," he told the doctor.

"Alrighty. You go on and save some lives."

Sophie watched the nurse leave, suddenly realizing something. "I've never that man's accent before."

"It's the Crawfish Island accent. There are different dialects from village to village, but all the natives have it. Some say this island originally drifted here from South Blue." The doctor chuckled. "Moving islands, can you imagine? But stranger things have happened in this world." He pulled gently on her eyelids. "Look to the left, please."

She did as the doctor directed. "So you're not from around here, I gather?" Sophie asked politely.

"I come from a place very, very far away. A very beautiful place… filled with temples and an endless sky." He held up a stethoscope. "Breathe in and out. But I've been here long enough to consider Pantano Town my home now."

Sophie exhaled slowly. "That's kind of depressing, Doc."

"Dorahahaha, is it?" he laughed merrily. "But enough about me. Your vital signs are all good, and your speech patterns are normal." He slipped the stethoscope around his neck. "How did you manage to get all that parathion in you anyway? Did you chug a whole can of bug repellent?"

"Something like that," Sophie shrugged, smoothing out the wrinkles on her hospital gown.

He looked genuinely interested. "That must've been quite a sight. The poison, as the nurse said earlier," he indicated to his temple, "disrupts the nervous system; you get tremors, vomiting, very severe diarrhea—"

"I know what parathion does," she said shortly. Sophie really wasn't too fond of being reminded of the pirate. Or his stupid mocking smile. Or his stupid grey eyes. Or his evil, stupid-looking goatee. Or the way his hands felt, so light it was like a whisper on the air just above her skin, and it was a pity he was about to kill her because he really had nice hands—

…AND SHE DID NOT JUST THINK THAT.

"Ah, that's right," the doctor blithely went on, oblivious to Sophie's mild seizure in the corner, "You're a combat medic, correct?"

She stopped hyperventilating for a moment. "How did you…?"

"Your identification tag, Miss."

Sophie fell off the bed, flailing. Bad memories, bad memories!

Unfortunately, she was still attached to the IV and the heart monitor, so it resulted in a mess strewn across the floor. Sophie threw herself at it and hastily rearranged the drip and the monitor so they were symmetrical to the other machinery. Yep, all according to plan…The doctor watched her with slightly befuddled amusement. That amusement slowly turned to concern as Sophie gingerly peeled off the tape that held the IV in place.

"Ah… you shouldn't do that, Miss. We still need to wait for the diagnosis to come back before we can let you go."

"No time. I really need to go home—back to G-13," she mumbled, lightly pressing on a band-aid over the crook of her elbow. She took exactly four tiny steps over to the sink. Her foot felt decent enough to walk on. "And if you try and pull the Code Grey card on me," Sophie warned as she started washing her hands, "I swear, I will find you and I will _eat _you."

She tried to make it threatening. She really did.

The doctor stood up with a creak of his joints. "Well, if you're homesick… and Marine bases usually have fine doctors… alright, you're free to leave. You're in good shape and you don't seem to have any complications from the treatment. All I ask is for you to pay."

"…Pay?"

"The bill," the doctor clarified.

It took Sophie a moment to comprehend that. Living on World Government funds, she'd never paid money for anything in her entire life.

"Oh! Right. Of course! All I need is to go find the nearest Marine base and call my sensei and we'll have everything sorted out!" She rubbed the bar of soap furiously between her fingers. "So I'll need directions to the base, the nearest shop that sells cigarettes, and… and… why are you looking at me weirdly?"

He scratched his white beard, coughing. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Four days ago, a group of pirates completely destroyed it."

Her hands froze. "Pirates?"

"The… the… oh, what were they called? Oh, yes, the Heart Pirates. Led by the Surgeon of Death, Trafalgar Law. They haven't caused any trouble yet. His group only looted the base, which is—_was—_some miles away from here." The doctor peered into her face. "Is something the matter? You turned very pale all of a sudden."

She swallowed and turned off the faucet with her elbow. "Do you have a Den Den Mushi?"

"Out in the lobby, go straight and then turn right. But, Miss—"

Sophie dashed away with a speedy thank you and goodbye. The Den Den Mushi snored on the reception desk. She zoomed over, tripped over her feet, somersaulted like a ninja, and coolly dialed G-13's number.

The snail's eyes popped open. "The line is presently unavailable."

That must be a mistake. Sophie hung up and redialed.

"The line is presently unavailable."

"Then make the stupid line available! This is Strangways Sophie! I really need to speak to Charaka Hippo, head of G-13's medical division! It is of the upmost importance. The-world-will-die and all that jazz!"

There was a brief pause, and then…

"The line is presently un—"

"Water-figging-melons!" Sophie threw the receiver back on the hook.

Relieved of its call, the Den Den Mushi started to snore lightly. A couple by the door covered their child's ears.

Sophie felt like kicking the wall, she was so frustrated. She used to have a baby Den Den Mushi reserved solely for when she was separated from Hippo, but she left it back at… back… Sophie inhaled through her teeth and pushed the Den Den Mushi slightly more to the left of the desk.

After a pause, she also rearranged the tissue box and the little jar of ink so it was _just_ right.

"Strangways, right?" the receptionist asked, flipping through her clipboard.

Sophie looked up. "Yes. Wait. That was a conditioned response. I actually have no idea what you just said."

The receptionist popped a bubble. "Yeah, you're definitely that girl. Y' knocked over three potted plants, broke at least five of the toys we keep for the kids, an' overturned the fishtank. Y' killed Hermy the hermit crab. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Sophie fidgeted. "Do I have to pay for all that?"

Her expression darkened.

"…I mean… I am definitely going to pay for all that!"

She gave Sophie a sugary-sweet smile. "The bank's down the street. The biggest buildin'. Y' can't miss it."

"Right… thanks…" Sophie weakly saluted and sidled out the front door. A minute later, she ran back inside. "Forgot my lighter." She paused. "Taking my clothes would be a good idea, too."

* * *

When she turned eighteen, Sophie had been given full access to her bank account. Ever since she went under his care, Hippo made sure to add to the pile of beli every month. 'Course, he also took _out_ a bit every month to help pay for damage repairs. She'd keep on insisting it wasn't her fault—the accidental explosion of the Marine lavatories, the inadvertent corrosion of half the Marine base, the unintentional Great Sulfur Incident when she was fourteen…

Sophie sighed as she examined the rest of the beli. She'd spent most of it on the hospital bill, Hermy the hermit crab's funeral, a leather satchel, a box of yummy cigarettes, and a new wardrobe. She kept the scalpel, her lighter, and what remained of her Marine clothes in the satchel. Sophie sighed again. Even after she bought an expensive pair of laced-up boots, she still hadn't been satisfied. Not wanting to settle for some Doskoi Panda knockoffs, she ended up forking over thousands of beli for top-notch Criminal clothes. B-but it wasn't her fault! The smell of beautiful, luxurious clothes _called_ to her…

And it certainly didn't help that Crawfish Island was a humid pit of _hell_.

Absolutely miserable, Sophie rested her head on the bar counter. "Beer," her voice was muffled, "strongest you have."

"Yes'm," she heard the bartender drawl, and the sound of glasses clinked.

The fan in the corner slowly whirled towards her, a warm, tepid wind fanning the flush on her cheeks. Sweat formed where the back of her legs touched the chair. Her curls were so frizzy Sophie wouldn't be surprised if she shocked herself just by glancing at metal.

The record player sang a scratchy, upbeat little tune and she found herself tapping her fingers to the tenor of the sax. Sophie looked up as the bartender pushed over a glass of beer.

"Cheers." She raised her glass and then downed half in one gulp. It felt warm on her tongue and burned in her veins, like life. "So!" Sophie said grandly. "Crawfish Island! Spring Island, I think?"

"S'right. If you haven't seen 'em before, you should check out the swamps. They're still regrowin' down here, but the ones up north? Huge, massive things. Always a hit with tourists—what little of 'em we get here."

Sophie made a face. "No, thank you. Swamps are dirty."

"Romance can bloom anywhere," he declared with an air of grand mystery. "Hot an' humid all 'round, but if it don't draw out nostalgia even in the most hard o' hearted."

"That's because they associated nostalgia with this weather," Sophie replied bluntly. "The mind trains itself to respond automatically with certain feelings in certain situations. This can actually be controlled, you know? For example, if you blast extremely annoying music loud enough and long enough, the enemy may associate that with agonizing frustration and sleepless nights and repetitive headaches, so later when he's being interrogated—"

She abruptly stopped when she caught the look on the bartender's face.

"Th-this is great beer!" Sophie backpedaled with a wide, frantic grin. "What's in this?"

He stared. "…Alcohol."

"Ah-ha. That was my first guess…" she mumbled into her glass.

She couldn't remember the last time she interacted with a civilian. Science jargon? Perfect. Military slang? Decent. Normal human speak? Sophie still wasn't getting it, no matter how many times Hippo had tried teaching her.

"Where are you from, _Mam'zelle_? Grand Line? Or the Four Blues?" the bartender asked, looking more amused than disturbed by her behavior.

Sophie wiped her mouth exactly two times with a napkin. "Me? I'm… well…" She folded the napkin in half, thinking. "…I'm nobody. Just passing through."

"Ah, the ol' cliché," the bartender chuckled, throwing a sideways glance at Sophie's hands. At least he wasn't saying anything about it. "C'mon. This place don't judge. You sailed here, right? W_eell_… y' don't _look_ like a sailor." He rubbed his chin, squinting at Sophie. "Hold on, 'm good at these. A merchant, maybe? Nah, somethin' tells me I'm wrong. A pirate?"

"Very, very wrong," she muttered around her glass.

"Probably not," the bartender agreed, throwing a dishrag over his shoulder. "You don't look like one of 'em Heart Pirates, anyway."

Sophie stared into her cup. Trafalgar Law stared back… his lazy smirk and cold, unfeeling eyes…

"You've met them?"

"_Non_. They dropped anchor on the western shore and this here's the southern tip o' the island. Haven't caused no ruckus yet. The Marine base on the other hand…" He sighed. "Completely destroyed the whole place. Most marines got out in time, though when I say 'most'…" He shook his head and resumed filling two mugs.

She swirled the beer around in her glass. "There was a battle, right? Four days ago? The Marines were trying to intercept the pirates."

"Two battleships were sunk. Sent just 'bout the whole town runnin'. We can only pray an' wait for 'em t' leave soon, when their Log Pose sets. Three more days t' go."

By golly, that was just teeeerrific. She fished the cigarette carton from her pockets and examined the twenty fresh new cigarettes. Feeling slightly more heartened, Sophie lit one up and took a hefty inhale. All the stress began to ease from her muscles. She blew rings of smoke out and watched them fade up somewhere between the bottles of cognac and champagne. Ah, there it was. Control. Her fingers stopped trembling.

The bartender passed the mugs to the two customers sitting at the other end of the bar. They were both wearing hats that obscured their faces, and had some sort of white jumpsuit thing tied around their waists, baring taut, sweaty muscle.

_Hm._

Taking another deep puff, Sophie leaned over and asked, "Do you know if there's a Den Den Mushi here that can contact other Marine bases?"

"Eh, we already tried that. Even if it did get through, most o' the marines in the vicinity have all been sent to Vira…" He rubbed his chin. "Though I hear Gator Town's still tryin' to connect t' the line."

"Gator Town?"

"Yes'm. You get Pantano Town here, a few other villages scattered between the swamplands, and Gator Town on the other end o' the island. Thirty miles away."

A quick glance at the clock told her it was one in the afternoon. "Think I can make it there before nightfall?" she inquired while downing the last of her beer.

"Walkin'? Not a Y chromosome's chance in Amazon Lily. We got carriages. Extremely expensive, but if ya need t' get there fast…"

She pressed the cigarette to her lips. "Extremely expensive is out of my price range." Sophie exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Now I see why I shouldn't have splurged on these Criminal clothes."

The bartender blinked. "You went to Ricky Rick's Boutique? Wow, you're probably the first tourist who fell for his knockoffs."

Sophie's eye twitched. "…Knockoffs? What are you—no way—" Horrified, she tugged on the collar of her shirt. "I spent twenty thousand beli on _fake Criminal_? Isn't that illegal? Can't I have that pineapple arrested—or—or at least get a refund!?"

He snorted. "Sure, it's illegal, 'cept no one usually falls for it. Ricky Rick rips off anyone who walks into his store. Look sharp next time; your money's your own responsibility."

Sophie's head met the counter again. Life was so much easier back in G-13.

"I don't care anymore," she sobbed, clutching her head. "I just want to get to Gator Town! Why does the universe_ hate meee_?"

"What's the hurry? You should relax here for the night an' get a good start tomorrow."

For a millisecond, Sophie dwelled on the question. She could say she was recently captured and experimented on by the very same crew of pirates that was currently residing on that very island… she could tell him that she had been a combat medic in a vicious civil war and the last refugee ship left her stranded in the middle of the Grand Line… she could divulge that she'd never been out in the seas—never even been outside her home—and felt exhausted, and scared, and alone.

All of those were reasonable, truthful choices. And all of those had the high percentage of ending with a panic attack. And wouldn't that be the awkward cherry on top of the awkward cake in the form of an awkward turtle. So she really had no choice…

"See, I have a stalker." Sophie nodded sagely. "He's been following me for two islands already. Really scary guy—all tattoo-y and earring-y and murderous tendencies-y. I'm in _super_ big trouble because of him."

…but to lie her awkward pants off.

"Damn," the bartender said.

Sophie nodded, sniffing for added effect. "He even… he even tried to take _advantage_ of me." Which was pretty true. "And he has a foot fetish! He is a mean, twisted, psychotic, evil little foot-fetished _fruitcake_!" Sophie clawed at the counter, hissing.

The bar was silent. The bartender was actually staring at her, open-mouthed.

She pushed the beer aside and said in a very tiny voice, "I have a lot of feelings."

"Uh…" The bartender looked around for help, and when none came, he sighed and leaned in closer, "I can lend you a bike if ya really need it."

Baby kittens around the world mewled in joy. Sophie clapped her hands, beaming. "That would be fantastacious!"

"C'mon, then," he motioned, and hopped over the counter.

Wiping the sweat from her thighs, Sophie slid off the stool and followed him out into the damp heat of Pantano Town. The air was muggy and hot, something Sophie was horribly unused to. G-13's laboratories had one set temperature: cold. Vira alternated between unexpected thunderstorms and balmy breezes with a chance of violent gunfire. She slicked her hair away from her neck—all the things she'd thrown her money away for, Sophie thought ruefully, and she'd left out the hair tie.

"Dear ol' Romarin," the bartender said with an odd tone of fondness. "Ain't she a beauty?"

A grimy red bike was propped up on the side of the bar. The leather on the seat was flaking away and mud was caked on the tires. Flies hummed over it. The chains looked like they were about to fall off at any given moment.

"A bit rundown, but she should carry you." He patted the handlebars. "Why don't y' try her out?"

Sophie pulled out a few napkins she had nabbed from the bar and dubiously wiped down the bicycle seat. "Are you sure it can last for thirty miles?"

"I guarantee it! She's an old friend's bike. He cared for her real well, named her after his dead mother-in-law…" He smiled, basking in the nostalgia. "Well, I've actually been meaning t' throw her away, but never really found the time, y'know? Though I'm sure he'd be okay with you takin' care of her."

"Tell him thanks from me," Sophie said sincerely.

"I would, but he's dead, too."

Sophie's smile froze. "That sucks… Wait, no, I mean…" At times like this, Sophie had fully realized the practicality of Hippo's etiquette lectures. Sure, she still didn't understand the sentiment behind it, but… "I mean, I'm sorry. Um. For your loss."

To her surprise, he laughed and waved it off. "Nah, don't be. It was a long time ago."

That was… new. Didn't it typically involve a bunch of neurotransmitters affecting tear ducts, heightened emotions due to stress, and lots of H20 and NaCl? Then again, Sophie only watched Hippo say those words to the families of the marines who had recently died. Hm. The outside world was interesting.

"Well, if you say so!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "I don't know how to repay you for this, but…" Sophie rummaged through her pockets and tossed him a small wad of beli. "Erm… for the drink and a serious IOU?"

He shrugged and accepted. "Jus' keep headin' north an' you'll hit Gator Town. The path don't stray. If y' get there in one piece, look for Nellie's place. Her rent's cheap an' the food's t' die for."

"I will." She wiped her sweaty hand on her shirt and then held it out. "Strangways Sophie."

His large hand encompassed hers and he grinned handsomely. "Sid."

Sophie swung her legs over the bicycle and started to pedal. It was a little shaky; she hadn't ridden one since she was a kid. It brought back memories. The first time she ever blew up a bike… the first time she poured corrosive acid over a bike… the first time she set a bike on fire and pushed it into a pit of explosive gas…

A flock of pelicans soared across the grey sky as Sophie biked across town. Raccoons flicked in and out of the of the shadow of cypress trees. Pantano Town smelled like the musky scent of nature, thick and heavy. Mosquitoes fluttered between rows of moss-lined buildings. The wooden houses whooshed by her, all lined up in neat little rows. They were real houses, like the pictures in her textbook. Some even had the generic flower curtai—

—flickered into a smoking wreckage of ash and timber. A soldier was slumped against the broken door, head lolled to the side—

A bout of nausea hit her in the gut. Sophie sagged against the handlebars, winded and drunk and trying to swallow down the urge to vomit. The temperature seemed to drop about fifty degrees. Cold sweat bloomed across her upper lip and her chest _ached_ so much it felt like a knife was sliding between her ribs—

Like window shutters sliding in place, her expression stilled and relaxed. She held the cigarette between her thumb and two fingers, and inhaled deeply. The smoke curled in her lungs, whispering promises of sweet relief that she slowly breathed out through her nose.

Her eyes flickered open. On the outskirts of Pantano Town was just a single dirt path outlined by white-bark trees, like grave markers.

A lonely sign was dug into the dirt, a clumsily painted arrow pointing north. _Thirty miles to Gator Town_.

So Sophie started pedaling.

* * *

"What do you mean, it's impossible to sail east?"

Sid glanced up from the beer mug he was wiping. "Y' haven't heard?"

Sunglasses glanced at his companion, and both shook their heads. "We recently arrived here with the Log Pose, so…"

"Travelers, eh? Listen up. You'd do well t' buy yourself an Eternal Pose. They might cost you some eighty thousand beli, but it's worth it. Any other place is better than the island lurkin' beyond the eastern horizon."

"Why's that?" the one in the penguin hat asked.

"Khanwari," Sid replied with an ill-disguised shudder. "The tyrant that ruled Cat's Eye Island for the last twenty years. Ever since then, not a single ship—merchant, pirate, Marine, or otherwise—has passed through its gates."

Sunglasses shrugged. "Alright. So it's just another World Government kingdom. Maybe if we ask nicely…"

"Don't underestimate him," Sid said sharply. "Twenty years ago, he burned down half this island. All of it, ashes. I was with the few who were lucky enough t' escape. Still remember the white ash falling for months an' the mass burial for the bodies no one could recognize."

Penguin Hat and Sunglasses were both staring at him, their mouths open. Sid grinned at the attention, but his smile was bitter.

"That's rough," Sunglasses said finally.

Penguin Hat looked contemplative. "But what was his motive?"

"He wanted the throne. Some say the Cat's Eye and Crawfish are bonded by blood. Sister islands, tradin' partners, comrades in war. Khanwari knew the young king would wage battle, once he saw what happened t' Crawfish. An' that king, that _stupid_ king, danced right into his palm. The entire royal family was disposed. A fortnight later, Khanwari built a massive stone wall around the entire island an' set up watchtowers every square mile. Only a handful of people managed to escape… but not enough, not nearly enough. Hell, I know a girl who's been waiting twenty years for her parents t' come back."

They looked surprised. "The Marines didn't do anything to stop it?"

He squeezed the water out of the dishrag. "Back then, Cat's Eye an' Crawfish weren't a part of the World Government. The king offered 'em a fat purse an' his allegiance, an' those screwed-up bastards accepted."

"An impenetrable, unassailable fortress led by a crazy king…" Penguin Hat mused, and then cracked a grin. "Sounds interesting."

Sid stared at him—and burst out laughing. "You sure meet some crazy people on the Grand Line!" he chuckled, throwing the dishrag over his shoulder. "Where ya stayin' at?"

"Our submarine," Sunglasses replied easily. "At the western shore."

He didn't say it loudly, but the whole bar quieted. All traces of laughter disappeared from Sid's face. "You two are pirates?"

Penguin Hat grinned. "Bingo."

The two of them gulped down the last of their beer, as if they were oblivious to all the occupants of the bar who were slowly standing up and drawing their weapons. Sid clenched the flintlock hidden underneath the counter, mouth twisting in anger.

Sunglasses slammed his mug down on the counter and exhaled with gusto. "This is some good beer! You think we can take some back to our—"

"Get out," Sid snapped, pointing the gun right at them. "I have the right t' refuse service t' anyone I don't like. Leave!"

Wiping his mouth, Sunglasses tilted his head at Sid. "What, you got something against pirates?"

"Not especially," he growled. "But I do have something against the _salauds_ who burned down the Marine base."

"That sounded pretty brazen." Penguin Hat paused. "You ever think about becoming a pirate?"

"I SAID GET OUTTA HERE!"

Penguin Hat held his hands up. "Alright, we'll leave quietly. Don't want a fight. Here's the money for the drinks. Oh—but before we leave…" He nodded at Sid. "That blonde girl you were talking to outside… well, this is just an off-chance guess, but…" He scratched his chin. "What did she say her name was?"

* * *

"Strangways Sophie! You still haven't found her yet?"

The marine flinched, sweating buckets. "Y-Yes, that girl! We're deploying marines to Drum Island, Longben's Skull, and Crawfish Island… all the islands closest to Vira… a-as soon as possible."

The silhouette against the window turned around. Yellow epaulettes made his large shoulders even more pronounced, a thick, black mustachio fell just beneath a square jaw, and scars overlapped on his forehead. He uncrossed his arms and laid his hands flat on the desk. His eyes were so pale they might've been glass.

"As soon as _possible_?" he repeated dangerously.

"Lay off, Lettidore," Hippo sighed, balancing on the back two legs of his chair. "The whole base is understaffed. There aren't enough marines able to be shipped out. Over three-quarters are still recuperating from the war." He balanced on the back legs of his chair, picking his nose.

He scowled. "Why are you in this meeting anyway?"

"It's because I'm worried about my precious daughter, you idiot!" Hippo slammed his feet against the desk for added effect. "Idiot! Idiot!"

The marine looked scandalized. Lettidore merely raised an eyebrow and snapped, "Stop acting so childish." He glared at the marine. "That will be all."

He saluted and left quickly.

Hippo chewed on the hem of doctor's coat sleeve. "Ahh, my poor little scientist! Is she afraid? Is she hurt? Why are youuu, Sophwieee?" He tore off his glasses and scrubbed at his eyes. "I haven't had more than fifteen hours of sleep since I left Vira! I had to perform twenty operations in five days, and there are still more waiting! I can't work like this, damn it!"

"I should've never let Miss Strangways leave," Lettidore admitted. "A chemist of her stature as a combat medic? And for Vira's situation to turn out the way it did… there's no helping it if she's dead. If she's still alive, then we might have a problem." He picked up the receiver of a Den Den Mushi. "This is the Vice Admiral. Get me CP5.""

"Understood. Please standby as we connect the call."

The chair slammed onto the floor. "Hey! Don't you think that's a little drastic?"

"Given the circumstances, I have to be. As for the damned captain of that refugee vessel… he'll be demoted to Warrant Officer. Leaving without all the passengers," he spat in contempt. "That display of cowardice is an embarrassment to the Marines! I'll strip the title of Justice off his shameful back even if I have to do it with my own hands."

Hippo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn it, Lettidore, you don't have to—"

"Yo, Vice Admiral! This is the chief of CP5, at your service!" The Den Den Mushi's mouth curved in a wolfish grin.

"I'm sending a picture over." He fed a photo into the fax machine on the Den Den Mushi's back. "Her name is Strangways Sophie. She must be found and brought back here alive. If she's already dead, her corpse will be suitable."

"Gotcha. If she's been taken captive?"

"I'll take responsibility for your actions."

"…And if the girl resists?"

"I ordered you to bring her back alive, not unharmed," he replied and hung up.

Face reddening, Hippo stood up. "You_ bastard_, you can't be serious."

"I'd go look for her myself if G-13 wasn't in such disorder." The Vice Admiral shot him a reproving look. "You should also consider the full extent of these circumstances. If escaping was intentional on her part—if she's been tortured, if she reveals _anything_ that compromises G-13, she'll put the entire Government in danger. Miss Strangways is young and impressionable, and the world is dangerous… especially to a child who's only ever seen it from inside her little tower."

"And that child went through a _war,_" he said harshly. "I seem to remember two boys doing the exact same thing at her age." Hippo sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Besides, you know as well as I do Sophie doesn't care about anything besides her chemistry."

"Then why did she ask to join the war?"

He had no answer.

"How can you be so sure she won't be led astray by her own naivety... by a dangerous person... or a dangerous idea?"

"She won't be."

"And how do you _know_?" Again, there was no answer. "I learned from my mistakes in Vira. Dragon completely blindsided us, and now we've all but lost the country." Vice Admiral Lettidore clenched his fists. "One lone variable is enough to upset the balance. We must find Miss Strangways before that variable comes into play. I am _not_ going to suffer another failure by losing the head scientist of my chemical warfare division."

* * *

The Heart pirates all gathered expectantly around their captain. A small, menacing grin played over Law's features.

"Set a course for Gator Town."

_to be continued_


	3. canary slim, sinkin' in swampland

**Thank you's to these ridiculously gorgeous darlings**: _Perpetual Concern, Katharonie, 10__th__ Squad 3__rd__ Seat, butterflyfreak, Rumu, LostInTheSilence, MercuryCake, Munchkin, the everchanging, InkDragoness_, _LaraLuvKakashi_, _Mrs. Trafalgar Law,_ _KITTY LOVES HAWKEYE_, _Shiningheart of Thunderclan_, _Girl-luvs-manga, __Guest_, _Sheep_, _Guest_, and _Alkitty_.

_Munchkin_: I assure you, this story will have a plot (actually kind of starting in this chapter)! The cohesiveness of it, however, is something that's still in the works…  
_Guest_: Thank you! Sadistic Law is actually quite hard to write—at least for me, because I over-analyze _ everything_. Gotta find that right balance of sadism and that laid-back Trafalgar Law-ness. But hey, as long as people read this Law as IC, then I'm happy!  
_Sheep_: Aw, thank you so much! Enjoy the new chapter! :)  
_Guest_: I'm so sorry! I could ramble on about my horrible computer crashes and school blah blah blah but I'll save that for the end. Onward, lovely reader!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own One Piece, and etc.

* * *

**methyl nitrate pineapples  
verse three**

_what a dream i had on my mind_, or: _canary slim, sinkin' in swampland_

* * *

The farther Sophie walked into Gator Town, the worse things looked.

She slugged it through the sticky heat, past clamoring pubs and worn-down houses. The fatigue hit just after she wobbled past the charred ruins of the Marine base. Romarin, the still-attached bike, was a surprise—but the same couldn't be said for any of her clothes, which were drenched in sweat. Sophie finally stumbled upon a rickety-looking inn with _Nellie's_ flickering in neon pink. It was smack-dab between a rowdy gambling house and the swamp.

"Thank the glorious mother of pineapples," she cried, throwing her hands. Hallelujah for soap! And showers!

She stepped inside and the smell of smoke and baking bread furled over her. Books, dusty vials, weird plants, and an assortment of other curious trinkets were scattered around. Sophie glanced at a bowl filled with bird feathers and tiny, brittle bones. Very, _very_ curious trinkets…

"_Bonsoir, Mam'zelle_," a low, husky voice crooned from the dark, "You have business here?"

A curvaceous brunette seemed to melt from the shadows, one elegant hand loosely clutching a long, thin pipe. Her eyes were rimmed thick with kohl and her lips were stark red—she swayed calmly as she walked, as if conscious of but apathetic to her striking beauty. Sophie pushed her hair behind her ears, perfectly aware of her own inferiority.

"Hello. I'm Sophie. Strangways Sophie."

"More like Slim to me," the woman observed, taking a deep inhale of her pipe, "Blonde hair like a canary's, too. My name's Nellie, owner of this fine establishment." She nonchalantly waved her hands at the crystal balls and (what Sophie hoped was) fake skulls nailed to the wall.

"I was told the rent's cheap, but no one said anything about this being a… a…" What exactly would one call it? "A… magic occult shop thingy?" she finished weakly.

Nellie laughed. "Nothin' is for sale, darlin'. They're all mine." She smiled, showing a flash of sharp teeth. "But movin' on from that—you wanna stay the night, yes?"

Mildly startled from the abrupt turn to business, Sophie nodded fervently. "But… well, I'm kind of running out on money—"

"Come, come, let's get you some food. We'll negotiate later. You look like you're about to fall over dead any second, Canary-chan," Nellie said as she beckoned Sophie over.

"Thanks, I think," she mumbled, and suddenly remembered the mud on Romarin's tires. "Um—should I put my bike outside?"

Nellie turned around, just noticing the bike that was partly hidden behind Sophie. It was hard to tell with the faint light coming from the candles, but Sophie was pretty sure she turned about three times paler. Well crapsicle on a fudgestick, that was not a good sign—maybe she should've just left the bike outside before walking in.

"Is… that bicycle yours?" Her voice was wrangled.

Sophie shook her head. "No. Why? Is it cursed?"

"Perhaps," Nellie said faintly. "Did someone give it t' you?"

"Wow, that was right on the mark. A bartender called Sid back in Pantano Town."

"Is that so…" She froze. "Pantano Town? That's thirty miles away! You traveled all the way here on that crappy bike?"

"It wasn't too—"

"Leave that bike be an' get over here!" Nellie snapped. "You must be exhausted. Let's get somethin' warm for you t' eat."

Sophie considered. "Food. Okay. Food is good." Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

She leaned the Romarin against the wall and followed Nellie into the dining area. Decidedly less spooky, this place was well-lit and furnished with pale-eyed porcelain dolls and faded black-and-white photographs. There were some shriveled heads here and there, but she tried to think nothing of it. Nellie vanished behind a door and reappeared a moment later, tossing a towel at Sophie.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, and started wringing the sweat from her hair. "What's the cheapest, fattiest thing you have on the menu?"

"One shrimp gumbo, extra on the fat, comin' up! Anythin' t' drink, Canary-chan?"

"I… no, I'm good," Sophie forced herself to say, and stared at anything but the liquor cabinet behind Nellie. _No, no, stop!_ She was already low on cash. Sophie slapped the rest of the beli on the counter, speaking louder than normal, "How many nights can I stay for this much?"

Nellie examined the money as she took a deep puff of her pipe. "With the cheapest room available, three."

"Two is fine," she said, shoving the rest back in the satchel. Then she'd have enough time to find a ship that'd let her hitch a ride back to the base.

Nellie tucked the rest of the beli somewhere down her striped shirt. She had eight black stripes and seven white stripes… fifteen stripes in all, that wasn't good. Maybe if Nellie turned around a little, Sophie could count the ones on her back… and then she realized what she was staring at and turned pink. She coughed into her fist and busied herself with her satchel.

Nellie held up a plush doll with pins stuck in it. "Canary-chan, what do you think?"

Sophie studied it. Four pins. Not bad. "…It's kind of cute."

"Ain't supposed to look cute," Nellie returned, but laughed slightly. She started to thread a black button on the doll's eyeless face. "You ever wanted to curse someone?"

Sophie cupped her hand around the lighter and lit a cigarette. "I think there are worse things you can do to people."

Nellie looked at her. Her violet gaze was unnerving. "You speak from experience?"

Sophie hadn't realized she was smiling until that smile dropped off her face. "What? Oh, no. _No_." Her palms turned sweaty."I don't… um, I mean, just, the whole voodoo thing, sticking needles in dolls, all fortune tell-y, I don't believe in that stuff. I'm more of a science-minded geek." She stuffed a spoonful of gumbo in her mouth. "Mmm! Zhis is gooh!"

"You're a scientist for the World Government, aren't you?"

The jumbo slipped off her spoon. "How did you…?" She frowned, wagging her spoon at the inn owner. "Don't you dare tell me you read my mind."

Nellie shrugged, starting to work on the doll's other button eye. "I suspected you were a marine at first. Vira's coup d'état is all over the newspapers."

Her heart jumped to her throat. She instinctively focused on steadying her breathing. Faraway screams echoed in Nellie's dining room, something only Sophie could hear.

"But I don't think you're bruised enough t' be a marine comin' back from the battlefield," Nellie continued. "You have _very _poor posture—that's also an indicator—an' you have an awful lot of burn scars on your hands. A girl with a knack for science an' self-inflicted injuries, who biked all this way to Gator Town from Pantano—why? 'Cause you heard we're the only place on this entire island that's still trying to connect t' the Marine line. You don't seem to _be_ a marine, so most likely you work for 'em."

Sophie rubbed the splotches on her hands. They covered her fingers and stretched across her palms; she'd had gloves before, nice leather ones that hid the burns, but they had also been forgotten at… that place with the war.

"That was an impressive deduction," she said.

Nellie looked up. She had been sewing this entire time. "Am I wrong?"

"How'd you know about the scars?"

"'Cause I have my own set." Nellie swung her legs up on the counter and tugged up her dress. Blotchy red disfigurements ran up the sides of her legs, terrible things that shouldn't belong on a person so beautiful. "Twenty years ago, there was a fire. Not all of me managed to escape."

Sophie's brow creased. "I'm sorry," she said, and meant it.

She smiled. "You're a nice girl, Canary-chan. How 'bout you?"

Sophie didn't think it would break any of the Vice Admiral's rules if she told Nellie just a bit of the truth… "I really work as a chemist for the World Government." She straightened up from her slouch, smiling ruefully around her cigarette. "The poor posture, by the way, is from bending over looking into microscopes."

"That's some special job. Your family must be very proud of you."

It'd been so long since she'd spoken to Hippo about her work—probably around three years, at least. No surprise, considering they were in different divisions. Before the war, she'd been so busy with work she sometimes forgot a world existed out of her lab. But even so… Hippo would've known, right? He would've had some idea about the things she'd created for the Government…

"Yeah," Sophie mumbled, "I suppose he is."

* * *

Aside from the dead rat floating in the toilet (she disposed of it immediately), her room wasn't bad. It looked clean…ish. No rabid tarantulas anywh—

"HOLY PINEAPPLES," Sophie said in a very calm and rational manner, and proceeded to bash her boot against a poor spider that chose the wrong time to slink down from its web.

After thoroughly checking the room (and sweeping it with a spare broom she found outside, bless the gods for their invention of cleaning supplies), Sophie tossed her satchel on the bed and quickly undressed. She gave her clothes a furious scrub in the shower, wrung them out, and jumped into the shower herself for a scalding wash, maneuvering awkwardly to keep her bandaged foot dry. The droplets_ sizzled_, decontaminating every part of her body. It was heaven. Finally, when patches of her skin started to turn a violent shade of pink, Sophie wrapped herself up in a fluffy bathrobe and flopped on the bed.

"Should buy more clothes tomorrow—ugh, no, I don't have enough money—I could steal… aghh! No, Sophie, you're not a pirate." Her clothes would hopefully appear dry and clean tomorrow. "Should ask the merchant ships about hitching a ride… but what if Traffle-waffle…"

The Heart pirates were all the way in Pantano Town. The chances were practically infinitesimal they would meet again, so there was no point thinking about it—but if she _did _see him…

Sophie shuddered.

_Let's not think about that_.

With a sigh, she plopped onto her pillow and immediately winced. "Oww…"

Rubbing her smarting head, Sophie pulled aside the pillow. A thin, yellow-crusted book poked out beneath her bedcovers. She frowned and dug it out. _The Tale of Apolleon. _The pages were softened with age and the threads that bound the book together were falling apart. Curious, Sophie flipped through the pages.

_Once upon a time, an Alabastian mechanic traveled the world, seeking the secrets of metal and fire. In his journey, he chanced upon a swamp-covered island in West Blue, ruled by a stern king who had lost his wife many years earlier. His only treasure was his young daughter, the princess of the swamps. Unbeknownst to the king, the princess and the mechanic fell deeply in love._

Yes, that was all good and formulaic… but where were the action scenes? Sophie skimmed ahead.

_Eventually, he discovered his daughter's affection for the lowborn foreigner. The king's might grew so much in his rage that he picked the island up and strode fearlessly into the Sea of Terrors._

_But the Alabastian mechanic was not disheartened. For one thousand days and one thousand nights, he labored over a giant mechanical Sea Cat that could sail upon the waves of the sky. He searched and searched the world until he finally found the princess. When he proclaimed his love for her in front of all the villagers, they were awed by the honesty they saw in his eyes and were won over to his cause. The mechanic had built a large castle for the princess, and together they left the swamp island for their new home._

_The king was furious. In the dead of night, he and his troops carved an opening in the belly of the cat. With their swords in hand, they quietly sneaked—_

Naah, this was nothing new. Sophie shut the book, yawning. Stories could wait for another time; sleep could not.

Scratching her mosquito bites, she set the book on the nightstand and turned off the lamp. Moonlight shone in, cool and silver.

Sophie glanced out into the swamp. Perhaps the fairytale was modeled after Crawfish Island. It would be romantic if a princess really had lived here. She smiled a little. Sophie used to force Hippo into telling her bedtime stories… knights rescuing fair maidens, noble and true kings presiding over noble and true kingdoms… she liked those the best…

Something odd flashed in the corner of her eye.

A faint blue glow bobbed amidst the dark trees, like a flickering torch or an eerie lantern. Sophie blinked. One moment it disappeared and the next dipped back, as if beckoning her over. Leaves rustled as a sleepy, warm wind swept through the swamp.

Sophie gazed out for a few more minutes, but the glow didn't appear again. That was… odd. Phosphorus? Radium? They both emitted blueish light… Actinium, maybe? …Unless there was a uranium ore mine underneath the swamp, Sophie didn't know why she was considering that…

Jotting down a mental note to ask Nellie about it tomorrow, she sank back into bed.

Sophie breathed in the woody, after-the-rain smell, instead of the wet stench of soot and blood she was so used to. She listened to the flap of a heron's wings and the croak of frogs, instead of bombs thudding on the roof or low, amused laughter…

She forced herself to keep her eyes shut. _You'll fall asleep eventually, you'll fall asleep eventually…_

Chilly hands touched the sides of her face and frost appeared, icicles forming at the edge of her eyelashes. Fingertips trailed down her lips, turning them blue and bruised, down her jaw, and peeled off the blanket. Sophie shivered, goosebumps popping up on her arms, and curled into a ball.

She felt a brief pressure around her hips and groped blindly, but—knot undone, the bathrobe slipped open. With a burst of twisted internal hilarity, Sophie remembered her neatly folded marine clothes and that this wouldn't be the first time the sociopath had seen her undressed. Hands slowly drifted down her legs, freezing them to the spot. The cold _burned_, but still, but _still_, she remained turned into the pillow, eyes squeezed tight. _Don't touch me don't touch me don't don't don't_—

His hand brushed over her bandaged foot. Sophie started to hyperventilate, but her voice wouldn't come out; her vocal chords had frozen solid. She tried to scream _wake up wake up please_, but ice cracked over her face. She felt him—it—the figment of her imagination—press over her, violently gripping her wrists, turning her as numb as death.

"Relax. I've told you before…" The whisper ghosted across her skin: "I'm not completely heartless."

Her eyes popped open.

Sophie was sprawled across the bed, still under the covers, still with her bathrobe on. She dimly registered the sunlight on the floor as it poured in, bright and warm.

Very slowly, her brain put two and two together.

Sophie rolled around and screamed into her pillow.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" the hairdresser asked dubiously. "It's such a waste…"

"I want it off," she confirmed. "And stark black. Jet black. Dark as the night, you know the deal."

The hairdresser shrugged. "You're the client…"

* * *

Half an hour later, Sophie hopped on her bike feeling like a new woman.

Her hair was just below her chin now, and a slick, shiny black. After having unruly blonde curls in her face since—well, _forever_, it was a nice change. Hippo would have the mother of all heart attacks once he saw her… maybe she should also get a lip piercing and a tattoo on her rear…

Not entirely abandoning the thought, Sophie pedaled into the town market. A tribal-print skirt with bird feathers braided to the ends swirled around her knees. She'd tentatively asked Nellie if she had any clothes to spare and in return offered to run down to the market for her. Hippo would be so pleased to hear all his etiquette interventions hadn't been for nothing.

As she entered the crowded market, Sophie slipped off the bike and pushed it along. The smell of fish and damp wood and spices invading the sweaty air. It was a breath of normalcy, a welcome change from everything that happened in past few weeks.

Sophie skimmed the list. Anise, Tipton's weed, balm of Gilead, a bushel of apples, a bottle of plum blossom sake…

Nellie told her there'd be a florist or a physician where she could get the herbs from, but she'd start by tackling the easy stuff first.

"Apples, apples, apples," Sophie hummed cheerfully as she passed by the numerous stalls. Glassy alligator eyes stared back at her, live crabs snapped their claws, and buckets of seaweed-covered oysters glinted in the sun. Her mouth watered as the perpetual ache of hunger started up in her stomach again.

"…staying back on the sub, this place is hell with all that fur."

Sophie whirled around. She frantically scanned the market for a spotted white hat or yellow-on-black, but there was nothing. She'd just heard wrong. It was understandable, given the clamor of the market…

Shaking her head at her irrational panic, Sophie turned around and accidentally bumped into a passerby. She stumbled against the bike, wincing.

"Sorry about that," the stranger apologized hastily, his face obscured by sunglasses. He and his friend wore white jumpsuits tied around their waists, showing a firm roping of strong muscle.

She waved it aside. "No, no, it's fine."

"_Shachi_," she heard the other guy mutter to his friend, before they were swallowed by the crowd. Something about them was strangely familiar, but she couldn't place it…

Eh, probably nothing.

Sophie approached a fruit vendor, digging out the beli Nellie gave her. "Exactly sixteen apples, please. No more, no less."

"Alrighty," the vendor said, and then did a double-take as he sized her up in Nellie's clothes, bird feathers and all. "Runnin' errands for Manette-san, are ya? 'Round these parts, no one but her wears those sorts of clothes. Stayin' at her inn?"

Sophie tilted her head. "Manette-san…?"

"Hele—ah, she prefers Nellie, right? Manette Nellie. Though I hear that woman doesn't like to be called that no more, what with her husband n' all. Here's your apples."

She took the bag but didn't move. "What happened to her husband?"

"Died durin' his siege, didn't he? Darnay's Siege, we call it. Five years ago, I think it was." The vendor shook his head. "Only eighty men strong an' they tried to storm down the Cat's Eye. Passionate fools, all lookin' t' die young. I still remember the burnin' horizon that mornin'… like all of heaven was on fire."

Sophie was strangely entranced. "They surrendered?"

"'Course they did, after Darnay was beheaded. Not many survived. Half of them that did were taken as prisoners. The other half was sent back here t' tell the tale. She started getting' into the mumbo-jumbo voodoo nonsense afterwards. Never quite the same, that woman. First her parents, then her husband, all taken by Khanwari. 'Cept that Sid guy, but what good was he for her, huh?"

That was a lot of information to take in… but what stood out the most was…

"Who's Khanwari?" Sophie asked.

"The current king of Cat's Eye Island. Twenty years ago, he burned down everythin' from Pantano Town to where the Marine base stood."

Her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief—_t__wenty years ago, there was a fire. Not all of me managed to escape._ "A king did that? He killed Nellie's parents?" But it couldn't be true; kings were good and just and kind, everyone knew that…

"Might as well've," the vendor sighed. "They were at Cat's Eye just in time for the previous king's inauguration. But after Khanwari massacred the entire royal family, he didn't let any of the Crawfish folk leave. They've all been stuck there for the past twenty years, an' god knows if they're still alive or not. That's why all our nerves are stretchin' thin with the Heart Pirates stayin' here," the vendor continued. "Brings back bad memories."

Sophie chuckled uneasily. "At least they're not staying _here _here; they're back at Pantano…"

He shook his head. "Wish it were so. But that yellow submarine was sighted this mornin', off the shore a few miles from town."

* * *

The sun burned low in the sky when Sophie arrived back to Nellie's Inn.

It had taken longer than she expected to find all the herbs, and even longer to find a ship to take her back to G-13. The town hall was still trying to connect to the Marine line, but to no avail. After a few unproductive hours of lingering in the sweltering heat, Sophie had finally given up and went off to search for a ship.

She'd bumped into the captain of a large fishing vessel, whose siblings had perished four days ago in the scuffle against the Heart Pirates. "It'd be like doin' 'em one last good," she'd said. "Any marine is a friend of mine."

Sophie dumped the grocery bags beside the empty bar and hollered, "Nellie, I have the groceries! Nellie?"

There was no answer.

She tugged at the collar of her shirt, where beads of sweat appeared. "Can I help myself to a glass of water? Or, you know, ice would just be fine. Nice, solid chunks of ice that I can sit on and be happy."

Sophie waited. Nothing. Maybe Nellie went out to run some errands of her own. Well, she wouldn't miss a few pieces of ice…

Sophie crept quietly over the counter and leaned against the kitchen door.

"…the _hell_ is wrong with your brain!" Nellie yelled.

She was about to scream her apologies for sneaking into the kitchen when Nellie continued, "How _dare_ you send the girl over here with _that_? I told you, I never wanted to see anythin' of his again! No! Sid, do not—I don't care it's been five years! I don't _care_!"

Sophie pressed her face into the tiny crack of light. She saw Nellie pacing back and forth, speaking in a Den Den Mushi.

"I told you t' burn all of Darnay's things," she snapped. "I don't wanna remember."

Nellie paused and pressed a palm to her forehead. Only now did Sophie realize a silver wedding band glinted around her ring finger.

"Don't say that," her voice cracked, "Of _course_ I wanted you to come back. You're my husband's best friend…"

Sophie started biting her fingernails. _Ohhh this was bad, bad, _bad _territory_…

Nellie broke off and stared at nothing for a long, long time. Finally, she shook her head. "Take the bike back. I'm not touchin' it. When Canary-chan leaves, I'll leave it outside the inn for you to pick up."

A brief silence.

"If you won't do it, then I'll just throw it into the ocean!"

Sophie scrambled away as Nellie slammed the receiver down. Well, so much for not violating anyone's private history…

Clearly Sid and Nellie had some sort of history together. And Sid, who had kept her husband's—_his _best friend's—bike all this time, gave it to Sophie… she looked at forlorn Roma-chan, leaning next to the bar. That's why Nellie looked so horrified when she saw Roma-chan in Sophie's possession. She rubbed her head. Augghh, what was she supposed to do now? Her chemistry books never taught her how to deal with _human_ problems…

The curvaceous inn owner stepped into view, carrying a box of vintage wines, all smiles again. "Oh, Canary… chan…" She nearly dropped the box. "Your hair!"

Sophie twirled a choppy black strand around her fingers and forced a grin on her face. "Pretty?"

"It suits you," Nellie agreed, after some initial stunned blinking, "But now I gotta find another nickname."

"Or you could just call me by my real name…" Sophie suggested, whirling around on the bar stool.

Nellie didn't seem to hear as she sifted through the groceries and drew out the herbs. She laid them on the counter, the tiny seeds of anise, the bright yellow flowers of Tipton's weed, and the purple buds of the balm of Gilead. Sophie watched, resting her chin on her arms, tapping lightly on the bar counter. Should she say something? But what if Nellie started crying? Sophie was smart, but not _that _smart. She didn't think she had the intellectual expertise to comfort someone without completely screwing herself over in the process… besides, she had her own secrets and Nellie wasn't bothered. Not… from what she could tell, anyway…

Wait—what if Nellie _already_ knew that she knew, and was waiting for her to ask? What if this was some social convention Sophie didn't know? No, that'd be too stupid. Pineapples, _all_ social conventions were stupid! Arrgh, why was she so bad at acting normal? Why couldn't all problems be solved with some methyl nitrate and a fuse?

_Confidence, Sophie, confidence!_ She took a deep, determined breath. "Nel—"

The bell on the inn's side door jangled. "_Bonsoir, Messieurs_!" Nellie greeted.

Sophie flopped over the counter.

"Good evening!" replied oddly familiar voices. It seemed they caught sight of Nellie in all of her flowing hair and violet eyes and bouncing bosom, because Sophie was treated to cries of, "Ahh, what a beauty! A true goddess on this forsaken planet! May we have the honor of your name, fair lady?"

"Fufufu… it'll be Nellie-san t' you boys," she said with a wink. "Take a seat wherever you like."

The new customers took a seat next to Sophie and her eyebrows rose. She sat up. "Hey, it's you!"

Sunglasses gasped. "What an absolute coincidence we bumped into each other again!"

Penguin Hat jabbed him in the ribs and muttered something like, "Nice subtlety, idiot." Sophie didn't quite catch it; she suddenly remembered how thirsty she was.

"A glass of ice, please, with water," she requested politely. "But really, just ice would also be okay."

"And two rums," Penguin Hat added with a dopey smile.

"I'll be right with ya." As Nellie turned to the liquor cabinet, she called over her shoulder, "Canary-chan, were you about to say somethin'?"

"Eh? Oh. Um… I-I was gonna tell you that I'm hitching a ride on a fishing vessel that's leaving tomorrow morning! I can finally go back home." Sophie stretched, cracking her back. "It's been a _very_ long time coming."

"Oh, what could've made your traveling experiences _that_ bad?" Sunglass grinned at her, and then hissed at his friend, who whacked him on the shoulder.

"You guys aren't from around here either," Sophie observed. "You have no Crawfish accent. Sailors?"

Penguin Hat glowered at Sunglass, who sweated slightly. "We're… we're… uh…"

Deciding she really didn't care that much, Sophie turned to Nellie. "I forgot to tell you this morning, but there was something really, um, _weird _outside my window last night." She rubbed her chin. "I don't really know how to describe it. It was a strange blue light floating around the swamp… like a ghost!" She moved her arms in a wavy motion to demonstrate. "Like, _whooo_…"

"You mean the will-o'-the-wisps?" Nellie slid the mugs over to Sunglass and Penguin Hat and peered at Sophie.

"Willow the… what?"

"Will-o'-the-wisps. They're a common sight out here. People call 'em all sorts of things: trickster demons that mislead travelers, pixy-lights, corpse candles. We tell the little ones it's the ghost of a headless carriage driver." Nellie chuckled, lighting her pipe. "Makes 'em mind 'emselves whenever they're near the swamp."

That sounded nice and all, but supernatural-like occurrences could always be explained. Sophie rummaged through her generally substantial knowledge for any tidbits on swamps. She knew that there was an abundance of decomposing matter on swamp bottoms; plants and algae and dead fish and what-have-you. The anaerobic decaying process would lead to the creation of the highly flammable gas, methane, and probably phosphine or diphosphine, which, in contact with oxygen, would ignite.

According to Nellie, will-o'-the-wisps were extremely common occurrences. That meant there must be an abundance of those chemical compounds on the bottom of the swamp, creating these ghostly lights with methane. Hmmm…

It took her all of three seconds to arrive at this conclusion: she wanted to see it in action.

"What about you?" Sophie asked, mentally filing away her findings. "What do you think they are?"

It might've just been the light, but her eyes seemed to darken. "My ma used to tell me they were wayward souls. Hitodama. Lost spirits of those who've died on this island. Those who've drowned, those eatin' by the gators, those who were killed in the fire…"

"The fire caused by Khanwari?" Penguin Hat interrupted.

Sophie recalled the apple vendor. "Oh! He was the one that—"

"—burned down half the island, yeah," Nellie said shortly.

Meep. Stupid, stupid, stupid mouth. Sophie shrank back and nursed her glass of water.

Sunglasses whistled, leaning back on the stool. "We're gonna have a helluva time with this one."

Sophie frowned. Were they actually thinking about going to Cat's Eye Island? What sort of idiot would blatantly challenge someone as scary as this Khanwari guy? Fools, both of them.

"What about News Coos? Or Den Den Mushis?" Penguin Hat pressed on. "Don't they have _any_ contact with the outside world?"

Nellie leaned over the counter so her breasts protruded right up at Sophie's face. She tried not to ogle. The other two had no such reservations. "The Sunflower Kingdom is under a dictatorship. They lock it's people in an' never let 'em leave. Take it or leave it, but that's all we know."

"There's _absolutely_ no way to get in?" Sunglasses wheedled.

Tapping her fingers on the counter, Sophie decided it was definitely impossible for these two. If they even _wanted_ to breach the Sunflower Kingdom, they would _absolutely _need the most high-grade explosives money could buy. Octanitrocubane, or RDX, or maybe some pentaerythritol tetranitrate… _twelve, thirteen, fourteen_, went her fingers.

Nellie took a long drag from her pipe. "Definitely none."

They'd also have to infiltrate the place, right? With their weird boiler costumes, there was no way… she was good at being inconspicuous, though… used to play hide-and-seek with the chemistry department—when they tried to ignore her, she'd just steal some extremely volatile explosive to get them in the mood… ah, the memories…

"All possible entrances checked?" Penguin Hat inquired.

"About a hundred times over."

Sophie's mouth was moving before she could register thinking it. "Even for a submarine?"

Sunglasses and Penguin Hat glanced over at her.

Nellie frowned. "Even for sub, it's impossible. What do you mean by that, anyway?"

Sophie stood, keeping her gaze trained on the floor. "Uh… nothing. Forget I ever… never mind. It's nothing. I'm going to go sleep now. Tired. Not thinking clearly."

She trudged up the stairs—sixteen steps even, thank pineapples for small mercies—and lumbered to her room, opened and closed the door exactly four times, and fell onto the bed. She didn't even take off her boots.

After nearly a minute of lying motionless, Sophie got up, grumbling, yanked off her boots, and set them in a perfect side-by-side arrangement beside the bed. She wiggled her toes experimentally; at least her foot didn't sting anymore. She rummaged through her satchel, glaring at the stupid scalpel she'd stolen from the stupid doctor—she'd personally blow that one into smithereens when she returned to G-13—and grabbed her lighter and smokes.

She needed to relax. She was going home. This was final. End of story.

After all, going home was what she wanted… right?

Sophie wanted to hit herself.

No question marks. No hesitation. It _was_ what she wanted. It really, really, _really_ was.

…_Really_.

Smoke lazily unfurled in the air. Sophie watched it dance around in swirly ribbons before floating out the window. The sky was blood red, spilling over the swamps and broken-hinged wooden houses. A lonely, broken moan of a harmonica drifted in the breeze. Gator Town was old. Old and dusty and filled with lost spirits and wildness. It was fascinating and haunting at the same time.

…And dirty. But for the sake of romanticism, she tried not to dwell on it.

Sophie leaned her head against the wall. She couldn't go to sleep tonight. Sleep was evil. Sleep was the detriment to humankind. Searching for something to do, she grabbed the old book from the nightstand and flipped over to the last page she'd read.

_In the dead of night, he and his troops carved an opening in the belly of the cat. They found the mechanic in the castle's highest tower and raised their swords, ready to slay him where he stood._

_Then hundreds of villagers leaped out of the dark, headed by the swamp princess herself. They defeated the king's men and he was left powerless. But to his surprise, the mechanic showed mercy to the king. Ashamed and defeated, he gave the two lovers his blessing._

_Together, the mechanic and the swamp princess ruled on Apolleon, the Sea Cat island, leading their people into an era of prosperity._

_And they lived happily ever after._

What a typical ending.

Sophie set the book aside and rested her head beside the window, one hand lingering against the cigarette. Flying cats… they could fly her back home, if only they were real. Flying ships maybe, or flying islands…

She was on her fifth—_eighth? twelfth_?—cigarette when her hand fumbled the lighter and it slipped somewhere off the bed. Sophie muttered 'pineapples' quietly under her breath, but before she could crawl over and grab it, a hand with the letters DEATH tattooed on it reached out and held the lighter for her.

"Mangoes, not you again," she said wearily.

He twirled the lighter around his long fingers. "What could you possibly gain from going to the Cat's Eye? Don't tell me I awakened a lust for danger in you?"

"The only thing you awakened in me is my strong desire to hit you with a frying pan," she muttered, looking away.

"Careful, Canary…" His voice was smooth, quiet, detached, but his eyes were a delighted sort of wicked. His breath fanned over her neck. "Aren't _you_ the one dreaming of _me_?"

Her whole face burned. Pineapples, Subconscious Sophie! She was about to aggressively inform his face to _go away_, when Trafalgar Law shifted. He folded back in on himself and morphed into a ragged Viran soldier, covered with gore and soot. Blood pooled around where legs should've been, sinking and spreading into the dirt—

Hysteria overwhelmed her. She thrashed, trying to kick off the sweaty blanket so she could start running far, far away, but her feet got tangled in the sheets and she promptly crashed onto the floor.

Sophie lay there for several horrified minutes, hugging her stomach and inhaling rapidly.

They'd underestimated the casualties. The medic squad was short two dozen, so anyone who had good aim and a basic knowledge of medicine were pulled to the front lines. 'Learn it as you go,' they'd told her. 'You're the daughter of Charaka Hippo, aren't you?'

And they gave her a pistol—_just in case_, they'd said,_ you find a soldier you can't save._

"Stop it, stop it, this isn't real, you're _not real_, _get out of my head_!" She clutched her hair and screamed into her knees, "_GET OUT_!"

She didn't know how long she spent there, laying on the floor. But it was long enough for a familiar numbness to overtake her body, to coil around her like polished steel armor, ready for war. Vira was just a thing. Just a simple thing. People died there, but people died all the time. And the pirate, too—he was no one. His existence didn't matter in the least. They were nothing to her, for she was beyond them all, miles and miles beyond, flying for home.

Sophie opened her eyes. "Arsenate," she whispered. "Borate. Tetraborate. Bromate. Hypobromite…"

Something poked her back. She reached behind her and tugged out the empty cigarette packet.

She should've felt angry. Disappointed. Anything.

But Sophie felt nothing.

She rose to her feet and tossed the packet into the waste basket. The metal _ping _echoed in her eardrums.

Breathing normally once again, she glanced out the window, at the swamp that lingered just outside Gator Town. The moon shone over the canopy of trees, painting them the color of bone and pale shadows. She raked a hand through her black curls. Sleep was bad. She couldn't go back to that place.

So she shucked off Nellie's clothes, changed into her faux-Criminal shirt and shorts, and stomped into her boots.

Seconds later, the door quietly swung shut.

* * *

"He already left? What was the point of spending the whole damn day keeping tabs on the woman?" Penguin groaned, leaning against the doorway. "Changed her hair, but not her eyes or her voice. Gone all black and short now."

"And she's still fine," Shachi commented with a thumbs-up. He was largely ignored.

"Captain said he was going to the swamp," Bepo said.

Penguin rubbed his face. "Ah, their meeting's gonna be messy." He paused. "What's with the brain?"

The polar bear was carrying a glass jar filled with a dissected grey mess floating listlessly in formaldehyde. "Captain told me to put this in his office."

"Doesn't he have other brains to play with?"

"He says this one is his favorite."

Shachi shrugged at Penguin. "Right," he said. "And why is he heading to the swamp again?"

"To find glow-in-the-dark mushrooms," Bepo said brightly. "Except he said it was bioluminescent fungi. But I think they're basically the same thing."

Penguin considered. "Well, I'm going to sleep. You guys rest up, too," he called over his shoulder. "The Log Pose already locked onto Cat's Eye, so we're setting sail tomorrow."

Shachi suddenly started. "I didn't have the chance to tell Captain something important!"

He swung around. "What? _What is it_?"

"I didn't ask him to save some of her hair for me!"

Penguin promptly whacked Shachi over the head.

_to be continued_

I need to write more Bepo omgjskad;fjnas

Major apologies for the lateness; I was having computer troubles for the entire month, which included frustratingly, headdesk-ingly random Blue Screens of Death. Add that to college deadlines and school presentations where I actually have to open my mouth and SPEAK TO PEOPLE does not make for a happy Raz. But everything appears to be okay now. Erm. Hopefully.

Also, I'll have periodic MNP progress updates on my profile and side tumblr (which you can access on my profile). If in doubt, check it out!


	4. corpse candles and foxfire

**Thank you's to these cutiepie dumplings**: _LostInTheSilence_, _Girl-luvs-manga_, _Alkitty_, _10th__ Squad 3rd__ Seat_, _Shiningheart of Thunderclan_, _SamuraiTater_, _Mai Kusakabe, Ayakaishi Fei, Guest 13,_ _butterflyfreak_, _Skittleskat_, _Sheep_, and _xXxWolvesInTheNightxXx_.

_Guest13_: I don't believe you've said that before, and what a lovely review, thank you :) Yep, Law is annoyingly complicated, but the challenge is what makes him fun to write! Hey, sleep _is_ precious! Get lots of sleep, y'hear!?  
_butterflyfreak_: Yay, you liked the fairytale! I thought it felt kinda wieldy and made chapter three extra slow, but it will actually play a _very _important role later.  
_Sheep_: Thank you so much! :) Ahaha… oh, the plot… the plot (or what you may make of it) is definitely coming! It might not make sense this chapter, but maybe… eventually… hopefully… *crawls in a corner*

**Disclaimer**: I don't own One Piece and etc.

* * *

**methyl nitrate pineapples  
verse four**

_born under a bad sign_, or: _corpse candles and foxfire_

* * *

Mud squished under her boots as Sophie followed the well-worn trail deeper into the forest. The swamp smelled like earth, rich and strong and musky. Mosquitoes buzzed around her ears, frogs croaked by her feet, and the full moon shone wet silver through the foliage. The trees were huge, unlike anything she'd ever seen. This was the amazing force of nature in the Grand Line. She wished she had enough time to do more research.

Sophie glanced over her shoulder. She was still close enough to see the light of the inn. This should be the place where the will-o'-the-wisp was yesterday…

She squatted down on the edge of the trail and gingerly lowered the lantern to the surface of the muddy waters. Tiny bubbles emerged from the bottom of the swamp—the methane, probably. But the swamp was too shallow in these parts and there wasn't enough decayed material; the methane wouldn't be as abundant. She'd have to wade deeper into the water to…

Her nose wrinkled. "Pineapples."

If there was anything Sophie hated more than the existence of germs, it was those germs getting on her skin. And her clothes had finally dried off, too.

Perhaps the heart of the swamp held more methane than the outskirts.

Squaring her shoulders, Sophie followed the trail deeper into the gloom. The lantern swung loosely by her side, and she wished it held more than a small candle and dripping wax. The night rustled with flashes of movement. The jagged tree bark adopted half-shadowed faces of the dead and every time Sophie looked away, she could hear them crying out to her.

_Don't be silly, that stuff isn't real. There's no such thing as haunted swamps_—

A loud _snap_ in the quiet made her jump.

She whirled around. "Who's—"

With an ear-piercing shriek, the owl battered her with its wings as it took off into the gloom. "Ow," she muttered, rubbing her head. What, it was just an owl…

Sophie froze mid-step. Her skin crawled. Something… was… scuttling… up… her… leg—

"_Noooo_!" She flailed about violently until the feeling was gone and braced her hands on her knees, panting. "Guuh… don't give up, Sophie! Even th-though this is t-terrifying…"

This would be the only time she'd be able to see something not generated artificially in her lab. She wanted to observe and… remember why she loved chemistry in the first place. She'd have no more chances once she arrived back at the base; the Vice Admiral would never allow such a thing…

The trail almost tapered to an end. Some distance away, remains of a moss-covered bridge poked out in the swamp; clearly no one had passed beyond for quite some time. Sophie frowned at the still water and then eyed the bridge. There was a good chance decayed matter lay beneath those ruins, beneath all that disgusting swampiness she'd have to cross…

"But I'm a chemist at heart," Sophie muttered, rolling up her sleeves. "Before anything, I'm just a girl who loves chemistry."

With a deep breath, she sloshed into the swamp. The water reached almost mid-thigh and mud slipped down between her toes. Goosebumps popped up her arms. _Don't think about it, don't think about it_…

As she drew nearer, Sophie lowered the lantern to the surface of the water, which bubbled slightly. She sniffed, but knew it had no point. Methane was colorless and odorless. If only she could see the decaying matter that generated the methane…

Grinning excitedly, she bent closer.

Two black slits stared back.

Sophie distantly heard herself scream before the alligator lashed at her, jaws reaching for her skull. And then she was suffocating, pulled back by the scruff of her shirt and thrown onto the muddy trail. Pain jolted through her shoulder and she inhaled sharply through her nose, _what the mangoes was going on_—

The snarling growl slowly retreated.

"Alligators are _attracted_ to light," a voice snapped. "For a relatively intelligent person, that was an extremely foolish move."

A pair of shoes blocked her line of sight. Sophie's eyes rose to the mud-splattered jeans, the yellow-on-black hoodie with the weird smiley face, higher and higher and more despairing… Trafalgar Law met her gaze evenly. A long, black sword lined with white crosses rested over his shoulder.

Sophie slowly got to her feet, forcing herself to keep calm. "I will immediately go review my chemistry books," she mumbled, averting her gaze. "Alligator facts are, of course, what _all_ intelligent people should be aware of. Thank you for the tip." She gave a tree the standard Marine salute. "Goodbye."

The glow from the lantern flickered over the gleam in his grey eyes and the slowly-forming smile. "Is that what you say to the man who saved your life? Any more of that and you're liable to get hurt, Miss Strangways."

Sophie stiffened. _How did he_—

Don't panic. The only people who knew her name were Nellie and Sid. Pantano Town. Two men in white boiler suits. Sunglasses and Penguin Hat. Trafalgar Law's crew members. They were Heart Pirates. Okay, there, see? She already figured it out. A part of Sophie felt mild anger at her hair—she'd cut it off and dyed it for nothing.

She exhaled quietly. "Um. Why are you here?"

"Ah… research."

That was most lazily-disguised euphemism Sophie had ever heard! He was going to kill her, she_ knew _it!

_Dear god_, some desperate part of her thought, _you should've just left me to the alligator._

Sophie held out the lantern like a weapon. "Research," she repeated, and tried to ignore how badly her hands were shaking. "Alright, I can work with that. I'm also here for research. I was l-l-l-looking for the will-o-the-wisps. I thought I might get a chance to see an incredible chemical r-r-reaction." Sophie swallowed. "S-so, um, if you could lay off the killing, it would be… highly appreciated?"

"I'm not sure if I can agree to that," Law said conversationally. "After what you did to my operating room."

Sophie bristled. "My options were l-l-l-l-limited! You think you got the worse deal? You might remember that you _poisoned_ me!"

His quiet chuckle caught her off guard. "That's right, I did. How's that foot of yours, anyway?"

Oh, that was nothing to be proud of. Jerk.

"Better," Sophie replied swiftly, "no thanks to you."

"Does that mean you can run now?" he inquired, and she heard the subtle, mocking threat beneath his courteous tone.

Well, he could take his fake courtesy and shove them up his apricot. "If you'd like, I'd be willing to try it out," she offered curtly, walking slightly faster, swamp muck squishing between her toes. Law effortlessly matched her pace. Grrr, him and his unreasonably long legs!

"I'd like my repayment," he corrected, "Miss Strangways."

Agitation prickled across her skin. "Sure," she agreed through gritted teeth, "let's just stop by the Marine base and I'll coerce some money from my boss. Though you'd probably end up in Impel Down afterwards."

He laughed softly through his nose. "You're certainly full of it. Have any bite to back up your bark?"

She wanted to punt his sarcastic smile all the way into the New World. Control, she needed control. This little repartee clearly wasn't going in her favor. Sure, the pirate had his weapon. So what? Sophie had her brain. Back in his sub, he'd mentioned something about wanting a higher bounty. He and his crew burned down a Marine base after they already destroyed two battleships—it was obviously to get his name into the papers. Judging by his age, he was a rookie pirate. His crew probably didn't have any bounties yet; they walked freely into Pantano and Gator Town without anyone recognizing them. Sunglasses and Penguin Hat followed Sophie, probably on Law's orders. So that meant they were loyal. And given their determination to set foot on Cat's Eye Island, she didn't think they would be part of a weak man's crew.

"Trafalgar Law, rookie pirate," Sophie said aloud. "I'm guessing your bounty is around forty to seventy million. But you're strong, so you definitely aren't going to settle for that." She sighed. "I was thinking there was no way I could ever hope to beat you… but then as I thought about it… this _is_ a strange turn of events coming from you, Surgeon of Death."

He studied her. "Strange?"

There it was. Sophie pointed at him. "You must lead an _incredibly_ boring life if you're chasing after me."

"…You're underselling yourself."

Well, maybe, just a little. But Sophie smiled. "I'm sure you have better things to do… more important people to kill… so save yourself some poison. I'm just—"

"—a chemist working for the World Government, as you had so kindly divulged to me," Law finished. There was about a yard between them, but Sophie still felt the pressure of his gaze. "You don't think I can't see the potential in that?"

Her fingers twitched. She wiped her sweaty palms on the back of her shorts. "Potential?"

"Well, that was an exaggeration," Law admitted after a moment's thought. "There's nothing a chemist can do in this situation, is there? Nothing you try will work, Miss Strangways. So go on and bark all you like. It won't make a difference."

"You—I—" She huffed, equal parts angry and confused. "Be that as it may, at least _I_ am not a pirate!"

"Oh, the sting," he droned with an unmistakable roll of his eyes.

Pineapples, that was a bad choice of words. Sophie felt control slipping from her fingertips. He was right. There _was _nothing she could do. She watched him lazily stride ahead, and clenched her fists. "And I don't try to kill every unconscious Marine who stray across my path!" she yelled.

He paused. His back glowed orange and shadows curled around every step he took. "Marine or no, it was merely convenient."

"Death," she returned edgily, "is rarely convenient."

"Depends if you're on the giving or receiving end."

"It's problematic on all sides," Sophie muttered, brushing away a mosquito that buzzed too close to her ear. Then, because she refused to fear him: "Your subordinates weren't very inconspicuous when they were following me."

This time, Law looked over his shoulder. "Not subordinates. Crewmates."

"The goons in the _boiler suits_." Courage taking over, Sophie stepped in front of him. "What do you _want_ from me? I'm broke. I have nothing to give you! And sure, you can kill me, but between us science-minded professionals, I highly doubt you will derive any satisfaction from my death."

His eyes were dark and cold, even while he was smiling. "Perhaps… but that hasn't stopped me before."

All of Sophie's courage instantly vanished.

She mentally ran through possible escape options: Law might take pity on her if she wept and groveled at his feet. If that didn't work, she could always kick him in the nuts really fast, sprint into the swamp, wailing at the top of her lungs, and hope the alligators preferred eating strong and lean over weak and skinny_._ Her breath came out in short, shallow spurts. _Think! Look at your surroundings! What can you use to your advantage?_

And that was when Sophie registered something shining in the darkness.

A blue, ghostlike flame flickered briefly just over Law's shoulder. A will-o'-the-wisp.

There was methane nearby.

Sighing hopelessly, Sophie hung her head and buried her face in her hands. "If you wish to end my life," she said in a tired, miserable voice, "at the very least let me finish what I came here to do."

"To see your chemical reaction?"

"I know there's no way out of this," she mumbled, and walked back into the swamp like she was approaching the gallows. "I know how weak I am. I know there's no point trying to struggle. So, please, just let me finish doing what I love best."

_Be a good pirate and stay still while I burn your head off_, Sophie thought.

She held the lantern close to the surface. Given the pure_ amount_ of natural gas in the swamp, the atmospheric quantity of methane might even be above five point one percent. Her hand would get seared in the process, but it would be a small price to pay once she flung an exploding lantern into Law's stupid face. She flexed her mottled fingers. It's not like she'd never been burned before, anyway.

Sophie held the light over the tiny bubbles, keeping an eye out for any will-o'-the-wisps. _Methane, CH__4__, violently reactive with halogens, oxidizers, and heat…_

"It's curious."

She didn't look at him, but even so, her stomach churned. "What is?"

"Everything about you."

Sophie was not disconcerted. "Please, I'm about as unfathomable as a puddle of water."

"Between the alligators and me, you'd choose the alligators?"

His voice was impassive, careless, even. It took her a moment to process his meaning.

_He thinks I'm going to kill myself_.

Sophie bit back a hysterical little giggle. She tightened the grip on the lantern and held it lower, willing it to catch ablaze. "Compared to what you'd do, it'd be an easy death."

"Most likely," Law agreed, and she heard the sounds of water splashing. He was approaching. "But it would also be a waste. I have all my instruments already laid out. And I reattached new leather restraints and sanitized the operating table."

Her eyebrows rose. "G-g-goodness, a whole operating table just for me?"

"Fluffed the pillows as well."

"You take great care in making your patients comfortable, doctor."

"Only for those who have escaped me once. It never happened again, oddly enough."

Sophie supposed the pillows must've strangled them. "And they tell me I was born under a bad sign."

"Well," Law conceded, "you did meet me."

Her fingernails dug into her skin. _Burn, burn, burn, please burn…_

The lantern stayed frustratingly whole. There was too much air, too much dilution, and too little methane. Now she just looked like an idiot, standing there in the middle of a swamp, awaiting her death. Perhaps this really would be the end of Strangways Sophie. But still… she'd die screaming and biting and clawing before giving him the chance to operate on her again. _Better make it a quick one._

"Get rid of the light," Law said suddenly.

Sophie broke out in cold sweat. Did he realize? "Ah, what?"

"The candle. Blow it out." His lips barely moved. "I don't enjoy repeating myself."

"No, I think I'll—"

He was next to her in two steps and gripped her wrist. Shrieking, Sophie abandoned the lantern and wrenched her arm from his grasp, sloshing backwards into a tree. The flame vanished. Night shrouded everything and for one wild moment Sophie half-expected a sword to come swinging against her neck. When the touch of cold steel never appeared, she cracked an eye open.

Ever so slowly, something green and glowing unfurled through the darkness. Little specks of light clung to trees and shone like luminescent jellyfish, like a web of fireflies and stars. Cool green washed over Sophie and she drank in the sight in amazement. Will-o'-the-wisps? No. They weren't nearly as beautiful.

"You're rather jumpy," Law said, breaking the silence. Half his face was cloaked by shadows, but the look he sent her was no less amused.

Sophie hoped it was still dark enough for her blush to go unnoticed. "What is this?"

"Bioluminescent fungi—or foxfire, as they're commonly called. They're normally present on decayed wood; I thought I could find some in this swamp." He idly examined a particularly large, radiant, mushroom-shaped plant. It illuminated the dark shadows under his eyes.

Sophie tapped her fingers against her thigh and asked finally, "This is what you were researching?"

"Fungi have medicinal properties," he said, by way of explanation.

Antiviral. Anti-inflammatory. Vitamin D. It wasn't really her interest, but she'd heard of it.

Tensing, Sophie watched Law draw out his nodachi. He looked almost ungainly handling a weapon so long, and she held her breath… perhaps he wasn't a good swordsman… perhaps she could outrun him after all…

With a quick flick of his wrist, the plant tumbled from the side of the tree and into his palm. She exhaled and slumped in defeat. Ugh. Pineapples.

A frog croaked pityingly. Sophie glared and muttered, "Don't look at me like that."

"Miss," Law said.

Sophie flinched and barely caught the shining plant. It was wet and squishy, but cool to the touch. "W-what?"

He nodded toward the small will-o'-the-wisps rising over the swamp. Oh… the methane. Was he offering some sort of peace treaty? Sophie scowled suspiciously, but edged closer to the gas bubbles. No matter what he said or how polite he was, she would not let her guard down. If Law made any funny moves, she'd bonk him with the fungus.

Sophie raised the plant over the water. The green light shimmered over rotten leaves, algae, and dead moss. A large catfish swam leisurely around her legs. She lightly pressed the tip of her boot in the muck and a multitude of bubbles emerged, effervescing at the surface.

Then they bloomed out of the swamp, little orbs of blue fire.

"Hitodama," Sophie whispered.

Law chuckled. "That's surprising. Does the woman of science believe in lost spirits?"

"It's not that I necessarily _believe_… it's just… how did you put it? There are so many possibilities… in this world…" So many she wouldn't ever be able to see, once she went back to G-13. She shook her head. "Of course, speaking scientifically, the will-o-the-wisps are produced by a complex anaerobic process—"

"—that methanogens use to produce methane as a metabolic byproduct," he continued.

"Which results from the breakdown of fats, proteins, and cellulose in the sediment on the swamp floor," Sophie finished quickly.

"Correct. Impressive."

"_I'm_ the chemist here; _I_ should be the one impressed!" She broke off, sighing. "You know… ah, whatever." Sophie held up the plant. "This fungus is pretty amazing, though. I couldn't see anything with the lantern, but with this…"

"When luciferin reacts with oxygen in the presence of a luciferase enzyme, the products are water and one photon of light," Law summarized. "That's where you get foxfire."

"That's fascinating," Sophie murmured. She looked at him earnestly. "Really, it is."

His lips quirked up, too small for a smile, but too… not-murderous for a bloodthirsty grin. "That's nature."

Not only was the pirate scary strong, he was also rather intelligent… which was never a good combination. She wondered what Hippo would think, if he ever met Trafalgar Law. The thought was both humorous and incredibly appalling…

Lily pads floated over her reflection. Sophie almost didn't recognize herself. Her face was streaked with mud and those golden curls she'd taken care of for so long were black and wet and hideous. Worst of all… the reflection was _smiling_. A little part of Sophie shriveled and her tiny smile abruptly morphed into a grimace. She splashed the water and her reflection disappeared in wave of ripples and lily pads. Still disgruntled, Sophie turned around.

Law was standing right behind her.

"_Holy mangos_!" she gasped, instinctively raising the fungus like a cleaver. He caught her wrist in an instant, fingers pressed right over her fluttering pulse. The fungus slipped from her hand and fell with a splash. She tried to pull away. "Don't touch—"

His grip tightened. "You've seen your chemical reaction," he said, clipped and business-like. "Are you prepared now?"

Sophie's mind puttered to a blank stop and she abruptly realized: 1) Law hadn't made a move to kill her this whole time just because she wanted to investigate the will-o'-the-wisps, and 2) That was a _disgustingly _efficient way to lull her into a sense of false security!

_Calm down and think this through. You're scared, not stupid._

"Y-y-you said I had to compensate what I took," Sophie said, allowing him to walk her backwards. A wall of trees and shrubbery lay behind them. "One l-l-life is surely w-worth more than a box of heart medication, a broken door, and an a-a-atropine pill."

His smirk was easygoing, even when he looked about an inch away from killing her where she stood. "That's certainly true. I was thinking more of a small item. A foot. Or a few fingers. Or an ear. I'm not a fastidious man."

Sophie clenched a sharp branch that poked into her back. "A-a-and you're gonna get it n-no matter wh-what?"

He gripped her chin. She flinched at the contact—he must've felt her tremors, but there was no amusement in the way he regarded at her. _Intent_ flowed through every pore of his being… and for the briefest instant, Sophie wasn't sure if she could look away. Law leaned just close enough so his breath puffed against her lips.

"I'm a pirate, Miss. What do you think?"

She stared up at him, mouth agape. And slowly, all her shock… turned to wrath.

"And_ I_ am a _chemist_!" Sophie shot back fiercely, because how _dare_ he say that to her, she who had lost everything in the war, who had lost Hippo, and he was the only person who'd ever mattered. What the _hell_ kind of reason was that? "We have s-something called balanced equations. You tried to take my life, and I t-took it back! I don't o-owe you _a-anything_!"

Law raised one hand. "That's where you'd be wrong."

Sophie gritted her teeth, snapping the branch with a sharp jerk—

Suddenly, he froze. Law glanced up at something above them with a strange expression, almost in disbelief. Hardly believing it herself, Sophie touched her neck as if to make sure her head was still attached to her body, and also looked up. A soft light glowed faintly over the trees, dusting the sky with orange and hazy grey.

Sophie frowned. "It shouldn't be dawn ye—"

"Quiet, Miss Strangways."

Her mouth snapped shut, more out of reflex than anything else. Out of the silence, she heard crickets chirping and frogs croaking and the quiet rustle of wings. A shrieking hoot came somewhere from the canopy above. Sophie became more confused. Law stared intently at the brightening sky. What was he listening for? There wasn't any—

She smelled it, rather than heard it.

Smoke. Kerosene. Singed flesh. Burning wood.

"Gator Town," Sophie breathed.

Law narrowed his eyes. "Pirates."

* * *

Everything was on fire.

The wind carried the flames from the port and pushed them northward, ravaging through the market and the gambling houses, encroaching upon the fringes of the town where the inn stood. Sophie slammed through the doors, but the dining area and the kitchen were both empty. She raced up the stairs of the inn, grabbed her satchel, stuffed _The Tale of Apolleon_ into it after a moment's consideration, and dashed back down, hollering, "Nellie-san! Where are you? _Nellie-san_?"

When it was clear the inn owner had gone, she grabbed her bike and pedaled into town in a crazed frenzy. Houses were crumbling. People everywhere made a run for it through the blaze, dragging along children, clothes, money. Complete chaos.

Sophie grabbed the nearest person and bellowed, "Where's Nellie-san?"

"I-I don't know! Haven't seen her!" the man cried, and wrestled free. He dashed away, shouting over his shoulder, "Best leave right now! Before the pirates come!"

She pressed onward, dodging around the fleeing townspeople.

"Daddy! Mommy, help!" a voice pleaded over the din.

Sophie doubled back. A little girl clawed weakly at the air, trapped between burning pillars. She leaped off her bike—nearly tripping herself in the process—and wrapped her hands with the old Marine shirt she'd kept in the satchel. The fire roared and hissed, a dragon incarnate, but Sophie already had so many burn scars, what were a few more to her?

Wheezing from the smoke, she heaved aside one pillar and snatched the girl out of the way before the others fell. The fire gobbled up the house just as they hit the dirt. Hissing, Sophie tore the smoldering Marine shirt off her hands. The little girl sobbed, calling for her parents.

Sophie seized her by the collar. "Have you seen Nellie-san? Manette Nellie!"

She flinched. "N-no—"

"Rika! Let's go!" a man screamed, and she was dragged out of Sophie's grip.

Nellie probably already left with the majority of the town. That was all she could hope for.

Sophie kicked up her bike and held the handlebars gingerly as she started pedaling again. Law had taken an alternate route on the way back to Gator Town, and all she could hope for _him _was for his submarine was docked directly in the path of the fire.

She tried to stay out of the crowd's way as they swarmed down the southern road. The worst of the conflagration was in front of the port, so escaping on a ship was impossible. The horizon burned, sea and sky melting together in a haze of blood red.

"Like all of heaven was on fire," Sophie whispered, remembering.

And then the crackle of flames turned into the snap of lightning. Thunder pounded over her head. Explosions rang in her ears, dull and heavy. Marines were everywhere and her hands were streaked in—

Sophie struggled to drown out the screams. _This isn't Vira this isn't Vira this isn't Vira… _

Flames spread through the market. One moment she was coughing out soot, and the next she was sprinting through a smoky battlefield as bullets whizzed past her ears—Sophie jolted violently, clutching her chest and panting, like she had really just been running for her life. Pineapples, it wasn't enough she was going crazy, but she was also hearing violins?

She listened hard. Wait…

Sophie evaded scorching stalls until she found the source of the music. The bike screeched to a halt. Her jaw dropped.

Right in the middle of the flames, smack-dab in the center of all the bedlam, people were dancing.

The apple vendor jumped from one foot to the other, his violin in hand. Arm-in-arm, the dancers twirled beneath smoke and blazing houses. With a jolt, Sophie realized they all looked as panicked as she felt; some were crying and pleading for it to stop. _Stop? Stop what? What were they_—

Battering rams slammed inside her skull. Sophie would've been screaming from the pain, had her throat not been seared raw.

Carbon monoxide poisoning, she thought faintly. She'd inhaled too much smoke.

"Get away, girl!" the apple vendor hissed. He was still jumping like the ground was scorching his feet. "Get away before it's too late!"

"What's going on?" Sophie rasped. "Let me help—_ffleghh_!"

She coughed, nearly choking on a pink feather.

_Pink feather?_

There was something she hadn't noticed before in the middle of all those dancers… she'd thought it was just an odd-looking pile of blackened timber, but now that lump moved. The large figure stood up on the pile of scorched wood; the awkward shape was because of all those feathers… like a bird… or maybe a giant pink jacket…

Sophie's eyes widened in recognition.

"Dance, everyone!" he roared, wild and ecstatic, arms flung wide open. "Make merry, have fun, and you, play the violin louder! More, more!"

Royal Shichibukai Donquixote Doflamingo.

"_Go_!" the apple vendor shouted.

But Sophie was too bewildered to even move. Why was a Shichibukai here? Why were so many people dancing? Was this a hallucination? Had all the chemical asphyxiates in the air finally gone to her head? Why was he laughing and… walking towards her and… _oh, pineapples_…

Several heads taller than her, Doflamingo bent down to look Sophie square in the eye.

"This is odd," he said with a leer. "You don't seem like you're having fun." His purple sunglasses reflected her frightened, dirt-streaked face… she looked like she was about to pass out…

"I… I work for the World G-Government, stationed at G-13." Her voice got stronger. The Shichibukai were good pirates, he could save her and this town, and he could capture the criminals who'd started the fire. "My name is Strangways Sophie! I can help you stop this mess! Just tell m-me what to do!"

"World Government? Oh my, that's a problem." He stroked his chin and tilted his head back and forth, unsmiling. "What should I do? This is going to be a pain now that someone from G-13 saw me here. Oh my, my, what should I do?"

"Wha… what are you talking abou…"

The building next to Sophie suddenly crumbled with a roar. Flames licked at her ankles and the sparks singed her arms. She eeped a little and cringed back.

Doflamingo's smile widened. "Fuffuffuffu… don't like fire, do you?"

Sophie hesitantly shook her head.

"You like water?"

Short, rapid nods. He could help! She knew Shichibukai were good…

"Good. You're going to swim to the bottom of the ocean, and you're going to stay there," Doflamingo said cheerfully.

Sophie smiled blankly. "What?"

"Poor Strangways Sophie. Drowned while trying to escape Crawfish Island. Cause of death: accidental. Once the Marines find your body—and they surely will—they won't have any reason to stick their noses into this fire. Sounds pretty _authentic_, right? I am nothing if not thorough."

Even as he was spoke, Sophie's feet began pedaling, turning the bike around. "Wait—wait, _no_, stop it!"_ This has to be a joke, this has to be a joke…_ "Why are you d-doing this? You're a Shichibukai! You w-work for the W-World Government!"

Doflamingo reclined back on his lump of wood and tilted her head at her. His gleeful smile seemed even more malevolent than Trafalgar Law's.

"And they gave me two orders: light this disgusting, backwater island on fire and retain ambiguity." He looked terribly entertained at her stunned expression. "Ironic, wouldn't you say? The very organization you serve is playing a role in your unfortunate demise." Doflamingo flicked a hand at her, fingers moving like he was controlling a marionette. "Well, don't take it to heart! No one in this world would weep for the deaths of a few ants!"

Before she could even register her actions, Sophie was pedaling furiously through the flames. She seemed like any other escaping townsperson, except she was heading in the complete opposite direction.

"Help!" Sophie screamed painfully. "I can't stop this stupid bike! Please, anyone!" She coughed. "_Someone, help me_!"

But no one heard her above the fire.

The horizon beyond was dark and enigmatic. She wondered if Cat's Eye could see the fire, if any of Nellie's family over there could see it. Maybe if Khanwari truly was a righteous king, he might send help. Maybe… maybe…

The satchel beat against her hip. So she'd saved the storybook for nothing.

Sophie barreled straight into the breaking tide. She shrieked as icy seawater splashed over her burns and filled her ears with the sound of thunder. The ocean flung the bike away from her feet and dragged her down, farther and farther away from the moon spinning lazily in the night sky.

Her final words… she had to make them meaningful…

"Damned pirates," Sophie gasped, before she submerged.

_to be continued_


	5. in the company of dead men

**Notes**: You guys, I'M GOING TO COLLEGE! Just got my first acceptance letter ahaha /sobbing

**Thank you's to these mmm~ lovely candies, mmm~**: _Girl-luvs-manga_, _Perpetual Concern_, _Katharonie_, _10__th__ Squad 3__rd__ Seat_, _camierose_, _butterflyfreak_, _Mai Kusakabe_, _Guest 13_, _xXxWolvesInTheNightxXx_, _LaraLuvKakashi_, _Alkitty_, _Shiningheart of Thunderclan_, _Daniella_, _Blue_, _Yougram_, _Sheep_, _Portgas D. Paula_, _CameronEmma_, _annaADDICTED_, and _KittyWillCutYou_.

And all of you who've alerted or favorited and I just ahh /flails/ Thank you all so much for the amazing responses and, I mean, just even _reading_ this fic. I—what? I don't know. _How did this even happen_.

Anonymous reply time~

_Guest 13_: Ramblings reviews, much like every review, I appreciate whole-heartedly. Glad to know you got lotsa sleep! Read on…  
_Daniella_: Aw, thanks :)  
_Blue_: Oh wow wow _wow,_ thank you so much! I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
_Sheep_: I like to make my characters work for their happiness (that goes for Law and the other pirates, too). I have to appease my inner sadist somehow… mufufufu… Thank you for the lovely review :)

* * *

**methyl nitrate pineapples  
verse five  
**

_crossroad blues_, or: _in the company of dead men_

* * *

Death stared up at her, black and gaping, jaws wide open.

The pain in her hands had frozen over and her lungs throbbed, like a heavy weight being slowly, methodically jammed into her chest. Something brushed her leg. She jolted, unable to stop swimming but instinctively searching for the glowing yellow eyes of a Sea King or a shar—

Her ankle jerked back and whirled Sophie around, bubbles bursting from her nose. A viselike grip clutched at her waist. She swallowed down a frantic scream, _no, no, I'd rather drown, he said they'd find my body, at the very least I'd be with sensei again—_

Her feet kicked out, glanced off the side of something, and it_ attacked_, hauling her through the water—

And then Sophie was flung unceremoniously onto the sand.

She immediately rolled on all fours and retched seawater. Her hands fisted, sand squeezing out of the spaces between her fingers, the raw, burned flesh angry and throbbing. Pain was good, pain meant she was still _alive_.

Inhaling rapidly, Sophie peeled away the clumps of hair plastered across her face and gazed up at her savior. The man was setting his hat back on his head and wore a familiar, smiley-faced insignia on his chest. She wanted to both laugh and cry at the same time.

Instead, she clambered to her feet and stammered, "W-w-why did y-you s-s-save me?"

"You have my captain's favorite scalpel," Penguin Hat responded, pulling on his boots. "He'd bitch at me for days if I'd let it get away."

On the pretext of wringing out her shirt, she did a quick, inconspicuous check on her satchel. Though soaking wet, the book and scalpel were still there. She kicked off her own boots and dumped out the water and flopping fish. At least all the swamp mulch had been washed away, a small consolation.

Penguin Hat lingered just behind her. "What were you trying to do, escape by swimming?"

"_No_! As if I'd actually try to drown myself! It was that horrible Shichibukai—Donquixote Doflamingo!"

His jaw dropped. "You—what—wait… _what_?"

"I thought he was sent to help put out the fire! And next thing you know, he's making townspeople dance and sending me off to drown!" Sophie threw her hands up. "Honestly, I have _no idea_ what's going on."

"Damn, this is getting troublesome," Penguin muttered.

Sophie didn't hear him, too focused on the fire still blazing through Gator Town. It had blackened over half the town and was encroaching quickly upon Nellie's inn, nearing the swamp where all the trees were awaiting destruction. Dread unfurled in her stomach.

"The methane," she whispered.

"Methane?"

"The methane! CH4 c-combined with heat, it's diluted but not d-d-diluted enough, there's t-t-too m-much methane, the fire will—five p-point one percent atmospheric amount—"

"Slow down! I can't tell what you're—"

"People are still back there, we have to w-warn them!" Sophie rammed on her boots and scrambled over the beach. "Gator Town's going to _e-explode_!"

"_Oi_! _You're not serious_!"

"Decayed matter in th-the swamp generates methane!" she bellowed over her shoulder, "It's a h-h-huge pit of natural gas! If the swamp starts t-to burn, the whole thing will—"

Sophie saw the explosion before she heard it. Massive flames erupted from the swamp, shooting high into the air, swallowing trees in a burning blue coffin (_no no no no_) taste of fire dripped like honey into her throat (_this can't be happening this can't_) will-o'-the-wisps and foxfire and alligators and Nellie—

She turned around and screamed, "_COVER YOUR EARS_!"

A rush of heat blasted through the cold ocean breeze, followed by the thundering _clap_ of the explosion. Broken tree branches and pieces of timber littered the ground. The pirate had just barely heard her—he, too, lay on the ground with his hands over his head.

Curled up on the sand, Sophie shakily lowered her arms and listened to the flames crackle.

It was too late.

Natural gas fires could not be put out by water. They had to wait for it to burn out completely, and on an island like this… it might take hours… or days…

After a beat of silence, he hastily scrambled to his feet. Sophie sat up at a much slower pace; she was numb with shock, the same dry-eyed, deadened numbness that seized her all those weeks.

And then she was blinking at Penguin Hat's proffered hand. Hesitant, Sophie held out hers, smeared with red as they were, and he grimaced. He grabbed her wrist instead and hauled her upright. She could still feel the firm, scarred toughness of his skin after he let go.

"How did you know that was going to happen?" he asked, a bit uncertainly.

"I'm a chemist." It sounded strange and heavy on her tongue. How often had she'd said those words, and how often had they proved to be even remotely useful?

"Right. Well. There's not much time left." He stepped closer, silhouette outlined in blue. "Give me the scalpel."

A thought crossed her mind: what if the pirate killed her after he got what he wanted? Knowing his captain… And even if he didn't, she'd be stuck on an island that was being razed down by an explosive wildfire. What could do Sophie do? Relinquish the scalpel and let him leave her to die? She'd been poisoned, threatened, bombed at, and had nearly drowned _twice_ all in the one week she'd been on her own in the Grand Line. And now, after all of that, she'd willingly accept _this_ death? No. Not a chance in _hell._

Sophie felt lightheaded, like she was floating slightly out of her body. She was a World Government scientist. She was _always_, _constantly_ in control. She _had _to be, because one little slip up could destroy an entire experiment… for years and years, she had suffered under the pressure of talent, bled and burned for the sake… for the sake of…

_For your job? For Hippo-sensei?_ the voice in her head whispered. _Look at how much those two have helped._ Ever since the war, her tightly-held grip on life had been slowly wrangled away, piece by piece… and now, for the time in her life, Sophie was the subject of the experiment and could do nothing but watch the world collapse around her.

She raised her eyes to Penguin Hat. There was no time for self-pity. No time for hesitation.

"I'll give you the scalpel on one condition. Take me with you to the next island. All of Crawfish is a ticking time bomb. I'm not going to survive if I stay."

"What makes you think I won't just take the scalpel from you right now?"

"Because there's an ocean fifteen feet away, and I'm a fast runner."

He didn't look impressed. "I'll tackle you again."

"You'd do so with the chance that I'll toss your captain's favorite scalpel into the ocean. Besides, you caught me by surprise the first time—now I'm expecting it. Me onboard your submarine, or you losing the scalpel. Which bet are you willing to take?"

He crossed his arms, a bit affronted. "Are you seriously threatening me? I saved your life."

"I'm a scientist," Sophie retorted, "not a saint."

The blue flames stretched their shadows across the sand. Penguin Hat was the first to look away.

"Right," he conceded with a reluctant sigh. "The Heart Pirates have ourselves a hitchhiker. Shachi is going to _love_ this…"

With a relieved smile, she returned the scalpel. "Thank you."

Two spots of pink appeared on his cheeks and he abruptly turned around, muttering under his breath. Sophie took one last glance back at Gator Town. It was engulfed by a blaze of cerulean, flames licking at the underbelly of the night sky. There would be nothing left come morning. Gator Town was gone. Romarin the bike was gone. Maybe the whole island would be gone.

She turned her back on the burning town and caught up to Penguin Hat.

"Before you get any ideas, my captain'll decide what's to do with you," he warned. "Don't blame me if he tries to dissect you again."

"He won't," Sophie replied in a voice more confident than she felt. "Because I know a way into Cat's Eye Island." After another brief silence, she turned to him and said, "By the way, I'm Sophie."

"Penguin."

"…Really?"

"You got a problem with that?"

Yes, because 'Penguin' was much too cute a name for what she'd imagined as Trafalgar Law's burly, pox-ridden crewmates. Sophie thought about it for a second and shrugged.

"Nah. Nice to meet you, Penguin-san."

* * *

The deck of the submarine was bustling with movement when Sophie and Penguin arrived. It was docked in a tiny bay on the western shore of the beach, floating beside a long, crooked pier. Sophie kept to Penguin's shadow and swallowed nervously. _Be cool. Cool like an Aokiji ice cube. Cool like an Aokiji snowman. I've never actually built a snowman before… NO STOP THIS IS TOTALLY NOT THE TIME._

One of the men noticed Penguin. "You're late! We're on a tight schedule here!"

"Shut up, Shachi!" another shouted. "I smell her on him. You bastard, Penguin, you've been with a woman!"

Penguin blushed. "Well…"

She nearly tripped over a broken plank. "_Don't agree_!"

Law froze as he was about to descend the sub. Shachi paused, brow furrowing in recognition.

Mangoes. There was nothing else for it.

Steeling herself, Sophie stepped forward. The pirates stared down at her.

"Um. Hello. It's me again. But you probably already know that… look, I'm just as surprised as you are—that I'm here, I mean. Trust me, I'd rather be _anywhere_ than here! No, Sophie, that's too far. Uh. Pineapples. Okay." She sucked in a very deep breath, as if trying to inflate her embarrassment away. "I kind of—I mean, I _really_ need a f-f-favor. The port is burning, ships are on fire, and I have no other way of leaving. So… um… I—it's just—oh, screw it—TRAFALGAR LAW! PLEASE GIVE ME A LIFT TO THE NEXT ISLAND YOU'RE SAILING TO!"

She sagged over her knees, wheezing. Penguin's shoulders quivered.

"_Are you laughing_."

"No," Penguin choked out and had to tug the ear flaps of his hat lower.

"Can you step a bit closer to the light?" one pirate called.

Sophie blinked. "Light?"

The lamps on the sub flickered on, half-blinding her. Sophie cringed and stumbled back a few steps, her vision swimming. Rotten mangos, of all the times to see her… she was a horrendous, sandy mess with drenched clothes clinging to her skin. But she couldn't back down now.

"In r-return, I'll tell you about the secret of Cat's Eye Island."

To her enormous surprise, loud cheers erupted from the crew. "Captain, _pleaaaase_!"

Sophie almost took a step back. The pirates really seemed to want to get to that island, though for what reason she had no idea.

Law evaluated her. "From what I've gathered, you're of no physical danger to us." _Well, ouch_. "However… the moment—the _moment_—you cause trouble… you'll wish I'd killed you at the swamp." He turned to his men. "Anchors up! We're leaving _now_!"

"_CAPTAAAAIINN_!"

Sophie released a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. Penguin beckoned her over. The pirates were alarmingly eager to help Sophie onboard, but they didn't _seem _like they were about to stage a violent bloodbath—in fact, they didn't seem like crewmates of Trafalgar Law's at all (actually, she had suspicions the Heart Pirates were a brigade of sociopaths in evil white lab coats). All the smiles were rather… perplexing.

"Those are some awful burns!" one pirate in a furry black hat exclaimed. "You should have the captain inspect that."

She hit her hands behind her back. "Uh—it's nothing."

He curled his mustache. "If you say so, little lady! I am Pescado Manta! It is an honor to be in your presence!"

"Yes, of course—ah, wait! I mean! Th-th-thank you!" _Manners, Sophie, manners…_

"Hai Xing," a dark-haired pirate wearing a newsboy cap muttered. "Don't expect you to remember it, though, no one ever does…"

Sunglasses popped up. "Sophie-chan, right? I'm Shachi! Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier. The situation was, you know, kind of weird."

Sophie hastily bowed. "Don't worry about it. It's, um, nice to finally meet you… sort of…"

A voice roared from the bass tube. "Get to your stations, lazy punkasses! We're setting sail!"

"Watch your mouth! We have a lady onboard!"

Sophie's weak, stammering protests went unheard.

"I-i-i-is that so? H-hello, my name is Anko, age twenty-four, helmsman, blood type X. I like to eat seaweed noodles, and my hobbies are—"

"Hey, I thought we were supposed to be setting sail!? Don't mind him, Anko has that speech prepared for every woman he meets." Shachi smiled winningly and ignored the plethora of angry spluttering. "Come on, Sophie-chan."

They ushered her inside. "Careful, careful, those stairs can be slippery, stop smelling her, dummy, you'll get sand all over your nose…" She went along, chuckling with a rather fixed smile, completely bewildered by the attention and unsure if she should be watching out for a saw to come swinging at her out of nowhere.

The pirates dispersed down the hallway and ladders, shouting their goodbyes to Sophie. Only Shachi lingered behind.

Anko's voice echoed through the submarine. "Navigation sensors are on. Air tanks are full. Temperature is stable. All systems are go."

There was a clicking sound from the door, like a lock snapping in place. The metal under her feet shifted slightly and Sophie braced herself against cold steel pipes. Water climbed above the portholes, and as she watched the ocean rise, she had a sudden impulse to hold her breath. Fish flicked past the window and then the submarine's lamps switched off.

Crushing black.

_Body won't stop, oh god someone please help, need air can't breathe don't want to die—_

Her breath hitched. An cold, unnatural chill seeped down her neck. It's over, Sophie reminded herself, because her hands wouldn't stop _shaking_, it's over, it's—

"Pretty cool, right?"

She glanced at Shachi and nodded. "Amazing, actually. To think only a wall of steel separates us and the ocean…"

"This wall of steel is pretty solid." He rapped the metal with his knuckles. "It won't break so easily. Anyway, I'm supposed to be in the engine room. Sophie-chan—"

"Miss Strangways."

Those two words sent prickles of fear up her spine. Ugh, 'Miss Strangways' _again_… Sophie glanced over her shoulder. On the other side of the hallway, Law jerked his head, motioning her over. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed around his nodachi.

"See ya around," Shachi said with an amiable grin and a wave.

Hopefully.

With a reluctant sigh, she dragged her feet over to Law—his entire crew was running around the sub; didn't he have anything to do? Was bullying helpless chemists the only thing on his agenda?

Sophie didn't bother forcing a smile. "How may I help the captain?" she asked dully.

"The captain would like to show you to your room."

She stepped away. "Would that be code for 'torture chamber'?"

"It's code for 'the place you'll be sleeping in'. Unless you'd prefer my men's cabin?"

"I'll go with the first choice," Sophie said quickly.

"Smart of you, Miss."

Discomfited, she focused on counting the steps as they walked down the hallway. Her satchel was a reassuring weight on her shoulder; worse comes to worse, she could always threaten the book's livelihood. Hopefully she didn't overestimate how desperate these pirates were for some answers… Sophie looked down at her boots, searching for something to break the uncomfortable silence.

Deciding she couldn't stand the heavy tension anymore, Sophie coughed to get his attention. "This really is… um, nice of you, Law-san. I'm grateful. Truly."

"That's good to hear. I enjoy having others indebted to me," he replied with an even smile. Something drew his gaze downward… right at her burned hands she held gingerly at her side. Law assessed that with disturbing calm. "You're wounded."

She hid her hands behind her back. "No, I'm not."

Quick as a snake, he grabbed her wrist and held them to the light. From palm to finger, shiny red welts covered almost the entirety of her hand.

"Oh," Sophie said in a tiny voice, "those wounds."

"You shouldn't lie to a doctor," Law told her, carefully examining the burns. "Your hands will be infected soon. There will be discoloration and discharge, and the burn may extend deep into the skin. You also might be stricken with sudden shock… potentially fatal, due to dehydration."

"If you try to help me, I am c-c-c-confident two or three fingers will disappear in the process," she snarled, trying to tug back her hand.

He laughed softly. "It's better than all ten."

Horror curled in the pit of her stomach. "W-w-wait… you w-wouldn't… you wouldn't…"

"Aren't you taking this too lightly? You don't seem to care about your body at all. You don't mind losing one or two hands, is that it?"

"Th-that's… that's not…" Sophie pressed flush against the wall and had a horrible flashback to the swamp, the operating table, _parathion_. "D-d-don't c-c-come n-near me," she gasped, cringing away as far as she could. Anymore and she was likely to fall right through the wall. "Please, please, d-don't—"

"Relax, Miss Strangways. It'll all be over soon."

His hand lashed out. There was a prickle of pain on her neck and Sophie fell into a haze of nothingness.

_Pineapples, not again…_

* * *

Sophie woke up to a blurry IV drip and a strange sense of déjà vu.

A machine beeped repeatedly next to her. The respirator attached over her mouth misted as she breathed in time to the heart machine. Hesitant, Sophie tried to move her stiff fingers and pain laced through her bones.

Oh god, no.

She shot upright. Her arms were bound with bandages up to her elbows. Onetwothreefourfivesixsevene ightnineten. She still had ten fingers. Sophie wiggled her toes. Yes, and ten toes, too. She felt her face. It all seemed to be in order. No eyes taken, no mouth carved up, no nose stitched onto her forehead…

"Yo," Law greeted.

Sophie nearly jumped out of her skin. The pirate lounged in a swivel chair, a stethoscope hanging from his neck, twirling a quill around his thumb. He hadn't stuck her in the operating room again; that was a relief (though with the current circumstances, it didn't exactly count for much). The sick bay was larger, hospital beds lining the walls and a desk situated in the corner, beside Sophie; it was strewn with stacks of books, ink-stained quills, and papers. Her forehead creased. Unclean. Way, way too unclean…

"You suffered minor carbon monoxide poisoning," he informed, breaking her inner diatribe against the poor desk. "I treated the burns on your hands—along with many of your older wounds that had opened. It should all heal within the week, Miss Strangways."

Her skin prickled. With some difficulty, Sophie pulled the respirator mask off. "I suppose I should thank you for not taking any of my fingers," she said stiffly.

"I suppose you should. I like others feeling indebted towards me, remember?"

"Well, when you put it like that," she rolled her eyes, "thank you for forcibly knocking me unconscious and treating my wounds under my explicit disapproval."

Law rested his cheek on his knuckles and said, after a beat, "Do you bitch at everyone who saves your life?"

Sophie turned beet-red and began stammering nonsensically at very loud volume.

"You won't be harmed unless you go out of your way to ask for it. You're my guest, after all." His voice was quiet in the assurance. Too intelligent, this pirate, all controlled calculations and relaxed refinement. Was there anything about him that was... _human_? He looked like a man who could make no mistake.

_But he did make a mistake_, Sophie reminded herself. _He failed to kill me. I escaped. And I'm alive. What must he feel, to look at me and see his own errors?  
_

Calming herself, she replied, "Guest is such a malleable word."

The caution did not seem to be lost on him. "I swear it." He tilted his head and added, "Upon any honor you think me of having."

Which was none. Hm. Wonderful.

"There's food." He indicated toward a small bowl of soup next to the bed. "You've slept about fifteen hours. You need your nutrients, Miss Strangways."

"_Please _stop calling me that," she burst out, before she could think about regretting it. "Sophie is fine. 'Miss' sounds weird. Even at work people called me 'brat' or 'kid' or 'hey, you'."

"…Since you asked so nicely, _Sophie_." She flinched and colored a sickening shade of green, clearly realizing the gaffe she unwittingly made. Law wheeled over to her, smiling mildly. "Your bosses really should have better manners."

"Oh—they were my subordinates, actu_aaugh_!"

He stuck a tongue depressor in her mouth. Law shone a light down Sophie's throat, ignoring her warbled choke. Just when she was about to do something violent and hysterical, he replaced the tongue depressor with a spoonful of soup. Sophie swallowed… and holy mangoes, it might've been the three months of military rations talking, but that was the best thing she'd _ever tasted_.

"So… so yummy…" She made little grabby motions, but Law set the bowl out of her reach. "But _whyyyy_? I'm injured. I need my nutrients."

"Stay still and don't blink," he ordered, and shone the light in her eyes. Sophie let him, jiggling her leg restlessly, even when he was pulling on her face and feeling up her throat with the perfect grip for strangulation. After he was done with that, Law set the stethoscope in his ears. "Breathe in."

Her hospital gown wrinkled as Law listened to her heartbeat. A part of her was mildly anxious at where his hands were moving towards, the other part pointed out that it wasn't like he was seeing anything new (that part was quickly murdered and stuffed into a dark closet), and a third part was focused on the stethoscope… Sophie remembered when she accidentally almost ruptured Hippo's eardrums when she was a kid… she needed to flick the black diaphragm really hard—

("_The moment—the _moment_—you cause trouble… you'll wish I'd killed you at the swamp_.")

Sophie swallowed and pressed her hands together.

"Respiratory and circulatory signs are good. Heart rate normal, and your lungs are healing from the smoke damage." He eased the IV needle out of the crook of her elbow and quickly wrapped on a bandage strip.

"Right. Thank you." She was determined to show she was not '_bitching_'. Sophie returned to the soup and muttered in-between gulps, "Actually, I suppose I have that Shichibukai to thank for my new scars."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "…You really saw Doflamingo?"

"Hey, I have nothing to gain by making this up." But to be fair, it sounded absolutely crazy. With a sigh, Sophie set the bowl down. "I know what I saw. It was him, it was definitely—but I just… can't comprehend it. How is setting a peaceful island on fire profitable? Crawfish only has three things of notable importance: swamp, mud, and houses that are barely managing to stay upright. There are no valuables, no gold… so what's the point?"

Law kicked his feet on the desk. "Senseless destruction doesn't need a point. They'll cover the fire up by blaming it on my crew. Anyone who knows of the Shichibukai's involvement is already dead—except you, of course. Doflamingo was careless." There was something… odd in his small smile. Something like satisfaction.

Sophie's head ached. "But—but the Shichibukai are… they're _supposed_ to be righteous. Soldiers of justice."

"Justice," he scoffed. "Justice is written by the conquerors. The World Government has been fortunate enough to be on the winning side of all wars in recent history—that's where your _justice_ stems from. It's a fabricated web of lies used by weaklings to rationalize each other's actions. This world is ruled by strength and influence. If you keep on thinking like an idealist, you'll follow Crawfish Island to the grave."

She stared down at her hands. She didn't know why his words stung so much, but it did.

"I'm not an idealist."

"Oh?"

"It's different for you," Sophie spat, "you're a pirate, you don't _have _anything to believe in. But me, I've grown up with the World Government. if I don't trust in this, this fundamental thing, then what did I fight for? What was Vira? They have a good reason. They _must _have a good reason. I've—" she swallowed and said in a voice painfully small, "…a lot of people gave up their lives for them."

There was a small, peculiar sound, like a… scoff, almost. Law's hat had fallen over his eyes and his mouth was unsmiling.

"The World Government isn't horrible, you know," Sophie said with an angry twist of her lips. "They protect people—innocent people—from those who would do them harm. Those such as yourself."

"And Doflamingo," he interjected. "You work for hypocrites and I doubt I'd find many marines who share the same pure sentiments."

"First! I am not a marine. And second, be that as it may they are still working for justice. You wanna talk hypocrisy? A doctor's duty is to save lives, and yet as a pirate you kill people—nearly killed _me_. Go ahead and explain that one, _Law-san_."

"It's dangerous to label others based on your preconceived notions." He pulled his hat back to stare her down. "Doesn't matter what I am—I do what I want. I don't bear the burdens of society. I don't have a duty to uphold. I bow down to no one."

She glared. "Doesn't that just make you irresponsible?"

"It makes me _free_, Miss Strangways," Law replied sharply. "Perhaps freer than you will ever be."

"…Yeah," Sophie murmured, because all things considered, "I think so, too." She raised her chin. "But I chose this path of my own will and _no one_, not even the famous Surgeon of Death, can look down on me for that."

There was no trace of surprise in his expression, no amazement or incredulity. But then the side of his mouth crooked up in that slick half-smile, and when he _looked_ at her Sophie balled her fists tight against her stomach but didn't glance away.

"Good answer," Law said, and she had a few seconds to contemplate how _weird_ this guy was before he continued, "The Tale of Apolleon_._ I read it."

He nodded at a thin, mustard-yellow storybook lay on his desk.

"Wha—hey, wait—you looked through my satchel!"

Law had the audacity to ignore her as he held up _The Tale of Apolleon _in all its torn and brittle unglory. "You know how you spoke of the secret of Cat's Eye?"

"Yeah?"

"It's from a fairytale."

"…Yeah."

He leaned back and laced his hands behind his head. "This is the part where I listen to your reasoning and then decide whether I want to butcher you or not."

Sophie's eye twitched. Law… sounded serious.

"Apolleon could be Cat's Eye if you think of it as a moving island. Not unheard of. Or perhaps Crawfish and Cat's Eye were once one island, and then broke apart later due to geological forces… it would explain the close relationship they had before Khanwari took over. They would've had to drift here from South Blue—but why not? Stranger things have happened in this world." Yes, like the doctor from Pantano Town had told her. "Regardless, the tale says the way into the island is _from beneath_. 'In the dead of night, the king and his troops—'"

"—'carved an opening in the belly of the cat.'"

"Yes. Most legends are simply exaggerated history, aggrandized by time. There really may be an entrance underneath the island. And because of Khanwari's defenses, it's most likely the only way. Don't waste time doubting. This is the Grand Line; common sense is never enough to survive."

He appraised her with a hooded gaze. Sophie had been subject to scrutiny many times before… it was stifling, but nothing new. This time, however, she couldn't read anything from Law's expression.

All he said was, "I'll save the butchering for another day. We'll steer a course for Cat's Eye."

The door crashed open. "Captain! This was the forty-eighth time Shachi asked me to—"

Penguin stopped short. Sophie waved a little, but he looked away.

"Uh… never mind… it was something stupid."

"This is good timing, actually." Law nodded at Sophie. "Your clothes are in your bag. Penguin, show our guest to…" he smiled grimly and lightning flashed in the background, "_the storeroom_."

She sighed. That sounded menacing.

Nevertheless, Sophie swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her satchel was lying against the wall; she picked it up and, just in case, searched through its contents. Clothes, boots, and… oh no he didn't… She swung around. "_Where's my lighter_?"

He tilted his hat over his eyes. "As if I'm going to give you a weapon. Nice try."

Sophie was promptly reminded of the seventy-five reasons why she hated Trafalgar Law.

"But that's—that's my favorite… look, I'd have to be completely_ deranged_ to harm anyone—"

"I'll return it when we reach land. Besides, as a doctor, I am inclined to warn you about the hazardous effects of smoking." Law held up a familiar silver instrument. "Turnabout's fair play, isn't it?"

"I don't even _have_ a cig—" She stopped abruptly; her eyes widened, breath catching in her throat. Of course it hadn't just been about _payback_, how could she not have seen? "You followed me across an island, had two of your men tail me, and attacked me in the swamp… _all for a scalpel_?"

"It's a good scalpel."

And she was left gaping at the closed door. "You—you're positively _infuriating_, you know that!?"

"This way," Penguin said, nodding down the corridor.

"How the—I can't _believe_ you'd—for a _scalpel_, honestly—!"

"Come _on_."

He sounded exasperated. It took all of Sophie's strength to tear her gaze away from the door and trudge after him. She gave up the issue—pirates could think whatever they wanted, it didn't matter to her because they were all _wrong_ and weird and some—she side-eyed Penguin, admitting silently to herself—and some were half-decent people.

But that certainly didn't apply to their captain.

They walked in silence. Sophie was grateful she didn't meet any of the other pirates along the way. She was tired, her hands stung, and she just wanted to have a nice, comfy corner where she could curl up and sleep and try not to dream.

Soon enough, they reached a bland-looking door which Penguin opened with a slow creak. Sophie perked up.

She stopped breathing.

Dusty jars filled with dismembered organs, severed limbs, and bones rested on cobwebbed shelves. Her lungs began working again and Sophie inhaled a sickly sweet stench—as sweet as death. Formaldehyde. Her eyes watered. She stumbled back, clutching her nose and trying not to gag.

"Captain wants you to clean this room."

Her eyes bugged. "_C-CLEAN_?"

"He says you gotta make yourself useful if you want to stay onboard. Sorry about this." Penguin picked up a paper bag lying against the wall. "Here are the towels, gloves, and the mop, the bucket of water is over there, and the bag is for—"

Sophie grabbed the bag and vomited soup.

"Yeah," Penguin said. "That."

* * *

Trafalgar Law had planned everything, Sophie knew. He'd said all that nonsense about 'nutrients' and whatnot, but it was only so he could bask in the knowledge of her miserable state of misery. It didn't help matters that once Sophie began something, she couldn't stop. Especially if it meant cleaning. She'd already sorted out half of the storeroom's… occupants.

"Why the mangoes am I even doing this?" She threw the mop down. Water and soap splattered over the floor.

Sophie stared at the mess.

Muttering all the fruits she could think of, she set to wiping it over with a towel. Trafalgar Law never gave away anything, and even if he did, it was masked behind a devil-may-care smile Sophie just wasn't able to pick apart, not like any of her molecular formulas. She bit the inside of her cheek.

Sophie couldn't tell if Trafalgar Law was a mad genius, a murderer with a bizarre MO, or just a lazy bum.

Grumbling, she got to her feet and squeezed out the towel over the bucket. The door was kept open to air out the stink of decayed flesh and cleaning detergent.

Sophie wondered how all these people had died; she could only recognize a few organs that had possibly been poisoned, some maybe corroded by acid, the burned eyeballs… and even then… Sophie stared at one intestine as it drifted almost lazily in the formaldehyde, like a shiny blue eel.

She licked her lips. "What a sadistic pineapple."

Law leaned against the door. "Is that right?"

Sophie shrieked hysterically, flailed, and would've smashed into a row of kidneys had not Law's arm snaked around her waist just in time. That only made her panic even more. She was torn between ripping herself away and curling up in a fetal position or staying very, very still and hoping he wouldn't notice her. Except, well.

Law looked over her trembling head, inspecting the rows of sparkling glass containers filled with body parts.

"Nice job cleaning."

She winced, like he struck her a physical blow, but her voice was deceptively honeyed. "H-How may I help you, Trafalgar-kun?"

He frowned and thankfully released her. "Never call me that again. Dinner. Let's go."

"Trafalgar-kun came to show little ol' Sophie the way to the gall—?" He grabbed the front of her hospital gown with a scowl. Sophie instantly held up her hands. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! The ammonia made me a little high. D-didn't you say there were going to be fluffy pillows involved?"

He let go, not very gently. "Maybe you'd feel better with a cigarette."

Sophie untied the hospital gown—she'd worn it over her Criminal clothes, so they wouldn't get wet—and shut the door exactly four times before facing him. "No, thank you. I don't smoke that often."

"Ah." He reached into his pocket. "Then you won't mind if I kept this for a while long—"

"_Give me my lighter_!"

She clapped her hands over her mouth. Shrinking back, a red-faced Sophie watched Law slowly drag his hand out from his pocket. He clenched empty air. _Of course._

He studied her like he was probing a lab rat_. _"Chain smoker, are you?"

"It's none of your—yes," she changed tactics forcefully, because she had nothing to be ashamed of, "Yes, I am. What do you care?"

"I still want to dissect some lungs from smokers." Law let that sink in and added, "Just a passing thought."

Sophie did a very good job of hiding her shudders. He wouldn't. He just liked threatening her, getting all up in her personal bubble, watching her panic. She felt like a tiny, pathetic bug nailed down under a microscope. The feeling was wretched. If not for her protesting stomach, she would've ran back into the storeroom, slammed the door, and curled into a little ball. Yes, Sophie quite preferred the company of dead men over Trafalgar Law.

Determined to put the matter behind her, she strode ahead despite the fact she had no idea where she was going. "At least I'm not a pirate."

He chuckled. "A familiar comeback."

Fury swelled in her chest. Blindingly fast, Sophie whirled around and spat, "You feign politeness in everything you say, but not even _that_ can disguise what a deranged, nutty-as-a-fruitcake _PSYCHOPATH_ YOU ARE! HOW'S THAT FOR A COMEBACK!?"

'_Comback… comeback… back…_' echoed down the hall.

"…and I mean that in a very caring way," Sophie finished weakly.

The shadows beneath his hat were angled sharp enough to cut and Sophie was aware of how very deserted this hallway was. Now would be a good time to run, but her feet seemed to be welded to the floor. As he walked forward, she couldn't even _blink,_ much less move.

"I seem to manage quite well," Law said. His smile was terrifying. "_Room_."

A blue-green dome encased Sophie. She whirled around, terrified, and wondered, not for the first time, if burning alive may have been the smarter option.

"_Shambles_."

* * *

"_Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum_!"

"Drink and the devil had done with the rest!" Shachi bellowed.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" the pirates cheered, stamping their feet.

The Heart pirates were having a grand time, led by Penguin who was waving Sea King bones like a conductor. As they finished off the song, Shachi raised his mug in salute and chugged it sloppily down his front. Bepo drummed his paws on the table, hollering. Even Law, relaxing in the middle of all the disorder, seemed entertained.

"Hey… can you please…"

His hand bent and tossed the object into the air again.

"_Please_…"

Toss.

"…please put my _head down_!"

Law looked mildly surprised, as if he'd forgotten Sophie was still decapitated. "Hm? Sure."

And then he tossed her head at Bepo.

"You are the worst!" she screeched, spinning through the air.

The bear caught her easily. It seemed he had some experience catching heads—but that didn't bother her in the slightest, because his fur was as warm as a soft blanket. "Are you okay?" he asked politely.

"Perfectly fine! Never let me go, I'll stay like this for—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Law had her wrists in a tight grip and clutched a surgical knife right at her throat. He blinked. "Experiment time."

"NO. GIVE ME MY BODY BACK."

Bepo glanced at Law, who just shrugged. The bear picked up Sophie's head and plopped it squarely back on her neck. But she had more important things to concentrate on besides the fact that she nearly died _again_…

"_Food_!" she sobbed, and began piling leftovers onto her plate.

The pirates were all quick to offer suggestions on which plate was the tastiest, what part of a pufferfish to eat ("It's not like any of us'll die with Captain here!" Shachi said confidently. Sophie was understandably not reassured), and which had the greatest chance of burning her tongue off. Someone poured her a drink she rapidly glugged down… glugged… and kept on glugging…

Penguin looked mildly impressed. "Damn, you're drinking a lot."

"Don't worry! I can hold my own!" she proclaimed, slumping over on the table. "Don't… underestimate…"

"YOU CAN'T EVEN LAST THROUGH ONE GLASS!"

"Of course I can!" she slurred defensively. "Just… never tried this… what's this… this…"

"WHAT THE HELL'RE YOU EVEN SAYING?"

"It's rum."

Bepo gaped. "Amazing! Captain understood her!"

"A TALKING BEAR IS MORE AMAZING!"

"…I'm sor—"

"WHY ARE YOU APOLOGIZING?"

Sophie snorted rum up her nose and doubled over, coughing. Curse those pirates and their well-timed humor! After the bout of trying not die was over, she clambered back up up, wheezing slightly and red-faced.

"You're taking this rather well." Law smiled at her, the very picture of civility, and she knew he'd just seen her almost kill herself with rum.

"It's not that easy to scare Strangways Sophie. It'll take more than… splicing… off my head…" She took a second to repeat that in her head and then corrected herself, "No, actually, you terrify me."

He smirked a little. "How straightforward."

"Y'know the legend of Cat's Eye?" Penguin waved a drumstick at her. "We've heard the rumors even before we entered the Grand Line. They say the reason the king locked up the island was because he wanted to hoard all the gold for himself. There's a mountain of gold buried underneath his castle, they say." His smile was all teeth. "_Imagine_."

"We'd be the richest pirates in all of Grand Line!"

"Man, what I'd do with that much gold…"

"Anyway! You have really crazy ability," she said, munching on Sea King meat as the other pirates went into a discussion about the pros and cons about buying mermaid statues. "But really cool at the same time. If I could split molecules as easily as you could split my body apart, that would be _incredible_."

She took another gulp of rum and savored the lightheaded, giggly sort of feeling that drifted over her. Alcohol was no substitute for nicotine, but she'd take what she could get. "I mean, investigating the wonders of the natural world is the whole reason why I'm a chemist. There are whole _oceans_ waiting to be discovered. What can I find at the end of the world? Elements I can control, the bombs that I can form, the things I can blow up, the smell of sulfur! Ahhahaa…" Sophie snapped herself out of the stupor and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "But I wouldn't expect a murdering doctor like you to understand."

"—they'd be _giant_ and we could stare up at them all day—"

"And how exactly are we going to fit that in here?" Penguin snapped.

"How about renovating our cabin arctic tundra style?" Bepo piped up.

"WE AREN'T A HOME IMPROVEMENT SHOW!"

Law set his mug down. "In the World Government… and even in your Marine base… there are people who will never appreciate your interests. We aren't so different in that way. Every sane person alive will shun those who don't abide by common thought. So you make bombs for a living. You call me a murderer, but what does that make you?"

His unnerving grey eyes watched her smile die away. "Do you really want to see the end of the world?" he asked quietly.

When she found her voice again, Sophie said, "There's a difference between killing out of cruelty and killing out of necessity."

"Is there?" His tone was devoid of all emotion.

She stared. In the background, Shachi was pointing out all the parts of the submarine he wanted to upgrade with his hypothetical new set of tools, and Penguin muttered to Newsboy Hat about buying more maps.

"I experiment on humans," Law continued, "because it furthers my knowledge and hones my skills. But even so, I don't delude myself in thinking that at the end of the day there's something more than a corpse sitting on my operating table. What difference does it make whether you're buried in a gilded coffin or none at all?"

Sophie's reply was harsh. "Difference is one person might've deserved it."

"_Bullshit_. Deserving death? And who gets to decide how much life is worth? Don't act so superior when you want to justify killing another human." Law leaned closer, cold grey eyes narrowed, voice _cutting_. "Death is the same wherever you go. It doesn't matter if it's one, or two, or a million people. Don't avert your eyes from it. Don't try to pretend it's _necessary_. It doesn't matter how they died, or why they died, but they _did_. And that's all that matters."

Her fingers were leaving red crescent marks on her palm.

"You're treating death like a statistic," Sophie quietly pointed out.

"Because it is," Law replied. "Am I wrong?"

She stared at the table and said, after a long pause, "Are all pirates cynics?"

"Cynical? Depends on how you look at it." He took another drink of his rum and asked quite plainly, "Have you ever had a dream?"

Sophie wasn't sure she heard right. "…I have…"

"So?"

"I want to eradicate all germs in existence and make odd numbers illegal. I think I sent in a petition to the Gorosei last year."

Law leveled her a flat glare.

"I'm serious," she snapped. "Got a condescending insult to throw my way?"

"That's one of the most pathetic things I've ever heard. I should take off your head again for that."

Ah, demeaning _and _threatening her all in the same breath. And to think that she'd almost been worried he'd gotten past that stage. Sophie plopped her cheek on her palm, thoroughly miffed. "Yeah? And what's yours, esteemed doctor-san?"

Law replied, "One Piece."

She ran her fingers down the cracks of the wooden table, thinking. "…With the things I've seen, I'm the last person who will doubt the existence of Gold Roger's treasure… but… you're wasting your life for an elusive fantasy of gold and glory. Out of all the pirates who make it into the Grand Line, less than one-tenth reach the Red Line alive. And less than one-tenth of _that_ have found a way into the New World. You might—no, you… most likely… will die."

"Yeah," he responded, "And?"

Sophie stared up at Law, unable to process what she'd just heard.

"…Say it again."

He didn't even need to ask her what she meant.

"I'm going to find One Piece."

Law raised his mug at her and threw his head back, draining the rum. She watched his muscles work, searching for the power that rested in his veins, his bones, just _there_, so close she could almost breathe it in if she tried.

* * *

Sophie awoke with a gasp.

She crammed a fist under her pillow—gun's not there, okay, where's the rifle—she was on her feet in a half-second, fumbling blindly through the darkness. Panic rose like bile in the back of her throat. She strained to see the dim red remains of a crackling fire, the other sleeping soldiers, the one that should've been keeping watch over the rest—oh god unless they were all—

And then Sophie banged her head on a shelf.

She promptly sat back down.

It took her a moment to remember where she was—the Heart Pirate's submarine, sleeping next to dissected organs. Sophie rubbed her forehead and took a deep, calming breath.

"Okay… very glad no one saw that…"

She fumbled through the darkness and opened the door, bringing in a waft of chilly air. Shivering, Sophie folded the blanket the pirates had kindly given her into a perfect square and slipped on her satchel. As an afterthought, she dusted the jars a bit. There was nothing like a good morning cleaning to pick her up.

"Sophie!"

A mess of black curls poked out door. "Shachi-san! Penguin-san! Good morning!"

Shachi winced. "Ow, ow, ow—n-not so loud, Sophie-chan." It was a wonder that he could still stand up, after that drinking competition last night.

"Mornin'!" Penguin shouted jovially. "What a nice day for sailing, right?"

"Aagh! _Whhhyy_!?"

She stumbled over to them. "Th-this is absolutely _not_ a nice day at all. It' so _c-c-cold_! Shouldn't the Sunflower Kingdom be a Spring Island?"

"That's right, but we're stopping at Drum Island to restock on supplies." Penguin tilted his head. "Isn't this a good thing for you? It's not like you wanted to go to Cat's Eye Island."

"Right," she agreed instantly, a bit defensive. "Speaking of which, I should head over to the deck…"

"Wait! Sophie!"

Startled, she turned around. Penguin was grinning. "It's been fun."

"For you, maybe!" she huffed over her shoulder. "I never want to get decapitated again!"

The pirates howled in laughter. As Sophie walked away, her lips lingered in a tiny grin.

The heels of her boots clacked down a familiar passageway. What a truly bizarre set of circumstances. Just last week ago she'd sprinted for her life in the opposite direction… Sophie glanced out the familiar porthole, where once upon a time she'd wriggled through. The submarine steadily approached a snow-covered island, giant white pillars stretching between long, slanting fingers of sunlight. Her breath caught. She'd never seen anything like it. The drum-shaped pillars, the gleaming ice castle, the pirate flag…

_What_.

Disbelieving, she pressed her nose against the porthole. Just as she thought. The white-on-black Jolly Roger was unmistakable.

"Why? Drum Kingdom is part of the World Government! Why did they raise a pirate flag…?" A dozen hypotheses assaulted Sophie, each worse than the last. "Don't panic. Facts first, theories later."

On her way to the deck, she passed by a group of pirates. Sophie's thoughts were whirling so fast she didn't pay attention until—

"They're blaming the fire at Crawfish on us! Can you believe those bastards—eh?" The burly pirate wearing a fuzzy ushanka hat jumped slightly when he realized Sophie was reading over his shoulder. "Sophie-chan? Mornin'! I'm Anko, remember?"

The pirate in the newsboy cap sighed. "It would be nice if someone remembered me."

Sophie kept reading. Fire spreading across the island. Eighty confirmed dead, hundreds more still missing. All attributed to the Heart Pirates… just like Law had said…

She pointed at the newspaper. "Can I borrow that?"

Anko nodded eagerly. "Sure!"

She voiced her thanks and walked out on the deck, reading as she went. Her breath misted and she could _taste_ the cold in the air.

Guardian of Alabasta, Sir Crocodile captures eight pirate crews this last month. Magician Basil Hawkins rampages across Longben's Skull. Cipher Pol Five apprehends the fearsome Grey Scourge in Oreina. She flipped through the bounties page (Iron Mace Alvida, Devil Dias, Cavendish of the White Horse, Strawhat Luffy...) and stopped._ Revolutionaries successfully overthrow the Viran monarchy._

It was over, really, truly over. The soldiers, marine and rebel, could all go home. She felt a strange, empty lightness. Of course it was going to end this way, they had predicted as much, but the finality of it was like taking a wrecking ball to the stomach.

The war was over, and she'd lost.

The sub entered a river, cruising against the current. Sophie lifted her head, her lips parting, newspaper forgotten—pristine, untouched snow blanketed towering pines, as far as the eye could see. A News Coo flew overhead, disappearing against the white-blue pillars looming high above the island.

Sophie was so absorbed she didn't notice a shadow beside her stretching an arm around her shoulder. Law pulled her close enough that his coat tickled her cheek and warmth spread through her bare skin.

The expression on her face could either be described as agonizing confusion or extreme horror. "Wh-wha-wha-wha—"

"Careful," he muttered.

Right on cue, a group of hooded figures appeared behind a snow mound, all carrying muskets pointed directly at the sub. "S-state your name and your purpose, pirate!"

Though Sophie was having an internal panic frenzy, he remained unruffled. "Trafalgar Law. Buying medical supplies. I promise you we mean no harm."

With that short exchange, their whole demeanor changed. They lowered their muskets and chuckled to themselves. "Medical supplies, was it? That's fine. Kinda brings back memories of that guy, huh?" One person shouted at them, "Bighorn is just ahead! Welcome to the Sakura Kingdom!"

Law nodded. "Thanks."

Her bewilderment grew. "Sakura Kingdom…?"

There was a flash of something in her peripheral vision, but before she could see what it was, he moved away, leaning against the rail, and she discontentedly began shivering again. "You saw the pirate flag, right? This island probably wants to proclaim independence from the Government." He frowned. "Not like they should be blamed… the idiot ex-king drove this country into ruin. The best doctors in the world used to come from Drum Island. Now it's only a shell of what it used to be."

Her relief was palpable. "So it's not overrun by pirates?"

"By the way those people welcomed us? Unlikely."

She'd only heard snatches about Walpol before, in G-13. The only thing she knew for certain was that the Vice Admiral hated dealing with him. He'd preferred to let Drum Island be, from what Sophie remembered. But… if G-13 had known this king had harmed his people so badly… and refused to do anything… she shook her head, she didn't even know the whole story, just what Law had told her. Either way, kingdoms were still mostly sovereign from the World Government… G-13 might not have been _able _to do anything…

As Sophie brooded over this, the submarine dropped anchor beside the outskirts of Bighorn. The Heart pirates piled out onto the deck. "Oooh! We're here! _Shit, it's freezing_!"

"I don't think it's that bad," said Bepo cheerfully.

"YOU'RE AN ANOMALY!"

"…Sorry…"

"When you arrive in town, get those bandages changed," Law told Sophie.

She nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for… well, not everything, but you know. Good luck on finding One Piece."

He tossed her the lighter. "I will."

She caught it. "Really, your confidence is astounding," she said with a half-smile, and tossed over the newspaper. Then Sophie sidled over to Bepo and clutched the front of his orange jumpsuit. "Farewell, beautiful animal, I'll miss you the most. You were my favorite." She hugged the polar bear.

Bepo was conflicted. On one hand, he had a sniveling girl that smelled like rotted corpses wrapped around his middle. On the other, all of his crewmates were glaring daggers at him. It was a rather novel experience.

"I'll miss you, too," he lied kindly.

"Y-you mean that?"

All this idiocy was too much for Law. "Bepo could take off your head with one swipe of his claws."

Sophie let go blindingly fast. "Oh. Um. I'm just going to… take off now… And I won't miss you at _all_," she snapped at Law, who had ruined all her fantasies of the polar bear and her frolicking in daisy meadows. _I've had enough of head-taking-off-ness to last a lifetime._

She jumped over the rails and landed heavily on the snow. With a wave at the pirates shouting their farewells, Sophie vanished into the pine trees.

"I hate to see her go, but I do _love_ to watch her leave," Shachi sighed with a dopey grin.

"Shachi." Law beckoned.

His jaw dropped as Law dropped a few strands of curly black hair onto his palms. "No way! You remembered? Captain, you're amazing!" He breathed in deeply. "Smells like… formaldehyde—_wow,_ that stuff's strong." Shachi held it away, coughing.

Law slipped the scalpel back in his pocket. "Be back before the Log Pose sets," he ordered the rest of his excited crew, "And don't fuck around; we're only here to stock up on supplies."

"Cap, you're not... planning on hunting her down again, right?" one pirate spoke up.

A cruel glint flashed in his eye, but Law just grinned and shook his head. "The chemist served her purpose. She's no use to me anymore."

Besides, he honored his promises.

* * *

"The Den-Den mushi has a severe cold," said the café owner apologetically. "We need to get it warmed up first."

Sophie's forehead met the table. She was bundled up in a thick coat the owner had generously lent her; the icicles that had frozen on her eyebrows had melted a while earlier. Her groan was muffled. "Well, I've waited one week already; another hour won't kill me… much."

She spent the last of her beli on a pack of her favorite Ground King cigarettes and black, bitter, piping hot coffee. Mmm… the nectar of the gods…

The doors were thrown open, sending in a flurry of snow. "_How are you doing, Dalton_?"

Sophie spat coffee all over the table. The café broke out horrified screams and she tensed, instinctively searching for a gun holster that wasn't there.

The owner nervously scratched his cheek. "Ah… well… Dalton-san went to Robelle… so…"

Young, slim hips were clad in tight pants. Thick blonde hair fell over a purple leather jacket. The cigarette dangled from Sophie's mouth. Back in G-13, she'd heard rumors… rumors about the loveliest of women being born on Winter Islands, beauties as frail and delicate as a white jasmine, their skin as soft and smooth as fresh snow…

The lady turned around—

Sophie's brain malfunctioned.

"At this time?" she frowned, deepening the wrinkles that lined her face, and her nose was as pointy as a witch's. "I saw a pirate ship banked on the river."

"Turns out they're just here for medical supplies. The captain's name was, um… Gora… Tafar… well, something long."

"That's not good. Isn't anyone keeping an eye on them?"

"Hey! You've hoisted up a Jolly Roger; that's practically an invitation to all pirates passing by this island! And I mean…" Sophie shrunk back, realizing how ill-planned her burst of outrage was, "well… aren't you, um, a-afraid of getting in trouble with the World G-Government?"

A hush descended upon the café. The belly-shirt-wearing old lady examined her, one eyebrow crooked up. She took a swig from a large bottle of plum sake and sauntered over to Sophie's corner.

"Listen up, little girl. Pirate flags carry many different meanings. Certain flags are flown with pride and can never be stained no matter how many bombs are thrown at it. Where was the World Government when Walpol threw out the doctors who disobeyed him? Where were they when hundreds of his subjects died of disease?" She slammed a palm on the table, nearly overturning Sophie's coffee. "Our flag is a symbol of faith!"

"I'm sorry," Sophie said flatly, not sounding sorry at all, "but that's a bit stupid."

The rest of the customers seemed to choke on air. What, did she say something wrong?

The witch lifted up her sunglasses. She looked terribly amused. "Heeheehee! What a rude little girl. Yeah, I thought so, too, until a couple of loudmouthed brats proved otherwise." With one foot, she dragged out a chair and dropped herself in it. "Is something wrong with your hands? It's okay, you can tell me; I am a doctor."

"Um, I-I don't think I need—"

"Those bandages haven't been changed in about thirty-six hours. It doesn't seem like much, but fresh bandages will help reduce scarring and speed up healing." She took a long drink from her bottle and pointed. "I'll dress them for you, but it'll cost all the beli you have on your person right now."

"That's too bad. I spent the last of my money on this coffee."

"Then two years of indentured servitude."

"…That price is a little steep, wouldn't you say?"

"Kids these days," she groused, resting her sharp chin in her palm. "Miserliness makes you very uncute."

Sophie daintily took a sip of her coffee. "Oh? I wasn't aware I had any cute qualities in the first place." She paused. "Wow, that was totally not what I meant to say."

The entrance bell jingled. The café owner looked up. "Welcome! Are you the pirates that docked outside of town?"

Oh, _fudgeapples_. It was only logical to assume that the Heart pirates would be staying in Bighorn. _Sophie_ was the one who should've been at a port, searching for a ship that could take her to G-13. She should've, but…

Sophie quietly excused herself and crept out the back door. Everyone in the café, even the witch lady, was focused on the recent arrivals. Their attention was arrested by one pirate in particular, whose bounty had become famous in the papers as of late.

Her smile widened. "Heeheehee…! Now this is a surprise. It seems I'm coming across your face everywhere today, Trafalgar Law."

One customer tugged on the café owner's sleeve and pointed furiously at the morning's newspaper. "We… we let such a scary guy on this island?" he squeaked.

"It's an honor, Kureha-shishou," Law said. His gaze flickered over to the empty seat and the cup of coffee. It was still emitting wisps of steam, and a faint scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

"Shishou? Pretty words from a wicked man. What does the Surgeon of Death want with me? Have you come here to learn the secret of my youth?"

Anko pointed at her. "Captain, who's this old hag? HABUGHFF!"

There was a sound like a head attacked a stone wall and lost.

"_Insolent brat_! I'm still a very young one hundred and thirty-nine years old!"

* * *

Sophie sullenly picked apart a leaf beneath a pine tree. She'd wanted to contact Hippo first before setting off to find a ship… which wasn't unreasonable. And if it delayed her for a few hours… there was no helping it, right?

Crawfish and Drum Island were entirely different worlds—worlds Sophie was only just beginning to fathom. Gator Town had smelled of soil, tree bark, and warm, damp earth. Bighorn was fresh and sharp and bitingly cold. It was the first time she'd ever seen snow, real _snow_. No one could blame her for wanting to stay out on the ocean a little longer… right? She bit her lip, disconsolate at herself for feeling guilty. There was nothing to _feel guilty_ towards.

She crushed the cigarette into her boot and began aggressively padding a snowball together.

A little rearranging here and there, and a tiny Aokiji snowman grinned back at her. Sophie relished that accomplishment for a few minutes, then looked up as a fuzzy, bipedal rabbit strolled by.

As if sensing that possible death was close, the animal stared at her, whiskers trembling. She reached out for a big warm hug, glittering hearts and flowers shining beside her face.

"Bunny," she dreamily called.

The laphan promptly bit Sophie's arm.

"OH MY GOD, GET OFF, GET OFF!"

"_Ai-ai-ai_!"

With a single punch, Bepo sent the laphan flying in the air. He turned to her. "You've really got to stop thinking every fluffy animal that comes your way is cute."

Sophie was face-down in the snow. Blood pooled around her nose. "Thanks for the advice."

"No problem!" He stood there in silence, perhaps basking in the fact that he hadn't been told off. When it became apparent Sophie wasn't moving, he gave a shrug and walked away.

"Wait!"

She scrabbled at his suit.

"Hm? What do you want?"

"Can't you stay—here? For a bit?" She wiped away her nosebleed. "Unless you're planning to take off my head, I mean… wow," Sophie laughed suddenly, "you guys are a _really_ scary crew. It's not like I hadn't noticed before, but…"

She fell silent. After a pause, Bepo flopped down beside her, cross-legged.

"You're pretty scary, too. You got burned and you almost drowned and I'm pretty sure Captain had at least three schemes to kill you… but you're still alive. That's the scary thing about you." A wide grin stretched across his face. "You fight back."

"I… well, um… that's kind of funny, actually. Before the war, I've never fought for anything. Not really. Not for things that actually _matter_." Sophie hugged her knees, cheeks pink from the cold. "Three months ago was the first time I've ever stepped outside G-13. That's funny, right?" she asked again, even though she wasn't smiling. "I'm nineteen, and this is the first time I've ever left home."

After a moment of contemplation, the bear replied, "You should do what you wanna do. Take it from a pirate. Life's too short."

Her life was measured by how many blueprints she made in a month. Or how many bombs she shipped out in a week. _Short_? Her life seemed endless. Sophie was sure that even after she died, her skeleton would still be working for the World Government…

She took a deep breath. "That's… um… actually, I was sort of thinking…"

"_BEPO_!" A loud holler broke through the air, startling them both. "Oi, Bepo, where are yoouuu? We're leaving!"

The bear brushed off his suit and stood up. "I'll follow my captain's dream until I die." He patted her on the head. "I hope you find your dream as well."

Sophie watched his orange jumpsuit disappear into the snow, feeling a bit like she'd let a grand opportunity slip from her burned fingers. What a novel concept they had. She'd never thought criminals could say stuff about 'dreams' without making a joke out of it. But… the Heart pirates were… a bit different from the average criminal.

Of course, Trafalgar Law was a lunatic. But she wasn't really of sound mind either. So, there was that.

She fell on her back and stared up at the grey sky. A snowflake landed on her nose. Sophie had generated snow dozens of times in her lab. Yet somehow, they were never like this…

How many other miracles were out there? She wanted to see them all. Sophie was a chemist, a purveyor of intellect, a researcher of the natural world. And there were so many things she didn't know. They all stuck out in her memories, vividly sharp: the first time she'd seen an alligator, walked in a swamp, tasted rum, felt real snow beneath her fingertips… meeting Sid, and Nellie, and that horrible Shichibukai… Law and Shachi and Penguin and Bepo…

_The war is over_, the little voice in her head reasoned,_ Sensei probably thinks you're dead. What are a few more days of adventuring? It's not like anyone will know…_

The iron in her chest throbbed, black and cold. But there was also G-13, her laboratory, her bedroom… it was a perfectly sensible life. And, pineapples, Sophie _dearly_ missed it… the sense of normality, a clear dawn after a storm, something so—_unreal_ after the war it couldn't even seem possible…

"Girl!" the café owner shouted, coming into view. "The Den-Den Mushi is ready for your call!"

Sophie slowly stood up and looked out past the pine trees, toward the river. No time for self-pity. No time for hesitation.

She closed her eyes, briefly. "I'll be right there."

* * *

With a grunt, Penguin hefted two crates onto the submarine deck. "That's the new dialysis machine, the water, and the food supplies," he muttered, ticking off the items on his fingers, "and last… C'mon, we don't have all day! But be careful. But be quick about it!"

"Which is it?" Anko shouted back.

"Oh, just hurry up." Penguin grinned. "Unless you're too tired after getting beat up by an old granny?"

The bottom of a shoe was still imprinted on his forehead, which Manta and Hai Xing kept sniggering at. "Shut up, assholes," he sulkily told them, tugging his hat lower.

Once the pirates finished quickly (but carefully!) loading the remaining cargo, Bepo hollered, "That's all of it, Captain!"

"We set sail for Cat's Eye Island! Raise anch—"

"_Stop the sub_!"

Law halted mid-step.

A young woman slowed to a halt, ankle-deep in snow, doubled over and gasping for breath. Snowflakes were caught in her curly black hair, and her cheeks were flushed pink. She stabbed a finger in his direction.

"Tr-Tr-Tr-Trafalgar Law! I refuse to get my hands re-bandaged! If you want to exercise your rights as a doctor, go ahead! B-b-but, I'm w-warning you, I'll resist with all my might unless you bring me onboard your s-s-submarine!"

Shachi and Penguin stood on the upper deck. The former gripped the rail excitedly. "Did you hear Sophie-chan asking for another favor?"

"I got the same feeling," Penguin replied, his tone wary. "Orders, Captain?"

Very deliberately, Law faced Strangways Sophie. Desperation, fear, and something like hope flickered in her blueblue eyes. He was aware that his entire crew was avidly watching from the portholes. She hugged her bare arms, shivering, but never breaking eye contact. Determination, that was good. A talented chemist. Yes, he saw the potential. But she was loud, rash, and _World Government_… had a good mind, though, and that was something he could use…

With a slow smirk, Law called back—

_to be continued_


	6. vox populi, vox dei

**Thank you's to M-M-M-MELLORINES~**: _KagehanaTsukio_,_ xXxWolvesInTheNightxXx, Alkitty, Katharonie, Blue, Velonica14, Girl-luvs-manga, Portgas D. Paula, Shiningheart of ThunderClan, butterflyfreak, Perpetual Concern_,_ Nazo-san_, _Mai Kusakabe_, _Karasu-LaoHu,_ _10__th__ Squad 3__rd__ Seat_, _InkDragoness_, _KittyWillCutYou_, _Bleachfan462, Rumu,_ _annaADDICTED_, _Guest13_, _Sheep_, _LittleMissUnknown_, _Sharky Shark_, _TurtlesAreFast_, and _Zubatattack_.

Anonymous reply time!

_Blue_: Thank you so much~ Sorry for the slow updates ): They're typically because 1) I obsessively edit my chapters six or seven times before I post them, and 2) Major plot defects, I'VE BEEN WRITING THIS ARC FOR ABOUT A YEAR NOW I THINK ughgughg but I'll be able to update _much _quicker now that I've patched this arc up and plotted out the rest of the story!

_Velonica14_: I have to admit, silly humor references is what I do best. /brushes shoulders

_Guest13_: Yep, chapter five is probably my favorite so far :) Psh, don't feel as if you have to review! Even though doing so automatically makes you awesome *ahem* Good on you for putting up with your cousin! (Though his project sounds interesting… I've always wanted to go to Australia… and New Zealand! *rolls away into a Hobbit hole*) Ah yes, cliffhangers, the bane of readers… muffuffufuffuuuhackhack cough

_Sheep_: Thank you! Your review made me smile haha :D

**Possible Warning:** This arc gets a lot… darker. I'm not sure if it's enough to warrant an M rating. BEWARE! More language, more blood, and more violence coming your way. But hey, shounen manga, right?

**Disclaimer**: I don't own One Piece and etc.

* * *

**methyl nitrate pineapples  
verse six**

_tnt, i'm dynamite_, or: _vox populi, vox dei_

* * *

Kureha watched the full moon glisten silver over Drum Castle. She raised the sake bottle to her mouth as the footsteps stopped beside her, on the edge of the snowy cliff.

"I heard you met with the pirates in Bighorn. The Surgeon of Death. Apparently he set Crawfish Island on fire."

"Heeheehee! Are you going blind, Dalton? The World Government's fingerprints were all over that story!"

"That's a relief," Dalton chuckled, sitting down beside her. "I thought I was only one who saw that."

"He asked me where to buy ammunition and medical supplies, and went off again. I thought nothing of it. Then he was back half an hour later, asking to buy some of my chemicals—said something about breaking into Cat's Eye Island."

"To liberate the Sunflower Kingdom?"

"As if I understand the way pirates think! He just better put my five percent discount to good use." She drank deeply, wiped her mouth, and said, "I've had enough of shitty kings."

Dalton looked up at the moon. "We've had our fair share of odd pirates recently."

"Isn't that the truth!" Kureha cackled.

Somewhere on a certain desert island, a pirate sneezed so hard his straw hat blew off his head.

—(a few hours earlier)—

In the past three months, Sophie had stared Death in the eye more times she'd ever thought was physically possible. But now, as she met his glare evenly, she refused to cower. It didn't matter that Trafalgar Law had effectively trapped her in a corner, it didn't matter that one of his hands was pressed beside her head and the other clenched the scruff of her shirt, and it certainly didn't matter that Sophie was close enough to know that he smelled like cold steel and winter.

Nope, it didn't matter at all.

Sophie stuck her chin up. "Return—my—_hair_!"

"I'll lend you my time-traveling device as soon as you _hold out your hands_." Law shook Sophie a little bit to get the point across. The cigarette almost fell from her lips.

"I had my hair cut _exactly _six inches down from here." She pointed to her bushy eyebrows. "Did you think I wouldn't n-notice? How long d-did you think it'd be before I'd see my reflection?"

Irritation rippled across his features. "If this bothers you so much, why don't you just shave your head?"

"You don't think I h-haven't tried? It's just…" Sophie hesitated, "well… it isn't… symmetrical. There's a…" She struggled agonizingly and finally wheezed in horrendous emotional pain, "_bump_."

"…I have some medication—"

"_No, thank you_!"

"Fine. You want symmetry?" He flipped a familiar scalpel between his fingers. With a flick of his wrist and a sharp tug from the other side of her head, curly black strands drifted onto the floor. "There. Now be quiet or I won't be bothered to help you when the opposite is so much more tempting."

He tapped the blade against the tender skin beneath her jaw.

Sophie swallowed, glared a little, and held out her hands.

A few seconds later, Law was dabbing ointment on the burns. The scent was fresh and clean, like peppermint. Still made Sophie wince, though she did her best not to show it. His fingers were cool against her own… and pretty soothing against her flushed skin… she did her best not to show that, either.

"How are your hands feelings?"

"Itches a little. I can move all my fingers fine enough."

Law began wrapping fresh bandages around her hands with practiced swiftness. "Good. Because for the safety of my crew, I can't allow someone lacking motor control handling chemicals of mass destruction."

"I'm a professional," Sophie returned flatly.

"I can see the World Government settling for less."

The slow simmer of rage in her chest was back. "Are you insinuating that I am _below par_?"

"You'll just have to prove me wrong, won't you?"

A vein bulged in Sophie's forehead. She'd prove him wrong all the way to the end of the Grand Line, and hand him One Piece while she was at it!

He beckoned her forward. "Your laboratory is waiting." Law flashed her a barely threatening smile. "You must pay the boat fare if you want to cross to hell."

Her so-called laboratory had served as an anything-goes storage room that'd been crammed with broken anatomical models to rusting frying pans. And a few spiders which, Sophie was happy to see, had been cleared out with the rest of the junk. All that was left inside was a table the pirates had scrounged up, a few of Law's beakers and test tubes, and half a dozen cardboard boxes. The room was quite a bit more spacious than she remembered.

Shachi hopped down from the table. "I checked the air ducts. The ventilation system should be able to remove any fumes from the sub. What was all that shouting about? You two have a spat?"

Sophie scowled. "He stole my hair without my permission."

"I don't need permission; I am a_ pirate_." Law's chilling gaze shifted a fraction and landed on Shachi.

The pirate coughed. "Ah… um, wow, it's pretty cold in here… I should, uh, check the temperature, um, system thing—bye!" With that, he hurried away.

Sophie strode around the room, inspecting the various instruments. Gloves, goggles, pipettes, a raggedy white coat that was most likely one of Law's. Of course, this was nothing like her laboratory, with all of its state-of-the-art equipment… but it'd do. It was actually quite a bit better than what she'd been expecting. She'd need about three hours for the smaller C4 bombs, but the big one…

Sophie ground the cigarette on the heel of her boot. "How long until we reach Cat's Eye?"

"Eight hours. More or less."

That was good, symmetrical number. And it'd work. "Gotcha." She snapped on the goggles, which gave her a rather disjointed, bug-eyed look. "This'll be child's play." She peered at the chemicals. "Literally, I used to play with this stuff when I was a kid."

"Where did the Marines find someone like you?" Law leaned against the door, looking interested despite himself.

"World Government. And on their doorstep." She shrugged. "Tell the rest of your crew to not disturb me. If anyone does, I can't guarantee your sub won't be blown sky high and we won't all turn into little bits of ash." She let that sink in and beamed cheerfully. "This is going to be _fun_!"

* * *

Penguin reclined in his seat, lazily watching the sonar flash on and off. Anko was at the wheel beside him, munching on a piece of takoyaki. Ronan had also wanted to deliver an early dinner to their hitchhiking chemist, but Law immediately shot that down with a 'Under no circumstances short of the end of the world would Miss Strangways be distracted'. Naturally, Hai Xing didn't take that very well, as he usually never did with anything.

"Okay," the pirate had sighed. "Bets on when we're gonna die. I call five thousand beli on four hours. Let's go. Put 'em up."

Shachi whacked him. "Have some trust in Sophie-chan! And all of us!"

"Please write 'killed by trust' on my tombstone."

"Don't be so gloomy!"

"You know that tingly feeling you get on the back of your neck whenever you're in mortal peril? That's happening to me right now."

Shachi pinched his cheek. "ARE YOU TRYING TO JINX IT."

"I don't jinx anything," Hai Xing said glumly. "Life jinxes me."

"If you don't wanna distract the little lady, you can start by not yellin' outside her room," Manta drawled as he passed by.

Shachi and Hai Xing dwelled on that.

"…Ten thousand beli. Two hours."

"I am going to punch you now."

Penguin chuckled as he recounted the past few hours. For a crew that had a World Government chemist boiling away on their submarine, they were surprisingly relaxed. Then again, the Heart Pirates were quite used to the screams coming from the Captain's fun room to be worried. He supposed it was systematic desensitization.

Anko began whistling Bink's Sake. Penguin almost joined in, but his mind drifted to the stranger onboard.

Last night, in the border between wake and sleep, he'd seen the blazing blue fire that swallowed up Gator Town. If Law acknowledged her talent as a chemist, so would he. However, his captain had almost killed her barely a week ago. Penguin liked her well enough, but that was before the current circumstances. She had a perfect motive to blow up the submarine, and Strangways Sophie was smart. Penguin just wasn't sure if she was the stupid kind of smart or the cowardly kind of smart.

…And what was with all those 'pineapples' and 'mangoes', anyway?

The sonar beeped. He blinked at the tiny green dot. "Hello, there. Where did you come from…?"

The dot drew closer—and the screen flashed red, _danger alert_, as a dozen more appeared from all corners.

Penguin shot to his feet. "Anko! Turn the sub arou—"

He was cut off as a resounding crash threw him against the floor. Anko hit his head on the wheel with a muffled expletive. Alarms blared wildly throughout the submarine. The great cabin door slammed open as Law skidded out into the hallway, just in time for another thud against metal. In her makeshift laboratory Sophie hugged the table for dear life, screaming about her unhealthy life choices as empty beakers smashed across the floor.

"Penguin!" Anko thundered, wrestling with the wheel, "What the _hell _just happened?"

He stumbled over to the master speaking tube and roared, "We're surrounded by mines! BRACE YOURSELVES!"

* * *

Penguin's words were still echoing through Sophie's ears when she careened into the control room. She clutched four small packets wrapped in a thick, waterproof material, each with a black device attached to the top.

Anko and Penguin sat in front of the massive control station, and Law, standing at their backs, turned sharply. The soft red light of the navigation sensors washed over him and—she wasn't sure if it was just the light, but—the corners of his mouth were crooked up. The man was grinning faintly. Actually _grinning_.

"The bombs are all f-finished and st-stabilized. They won't be set off by s-shaking or p-physical force."

"We're not actually getting hit by the mines," Penguin muttered as he examined the multiple screens. "If we were, half the sub would be gone already. It's the shockwaves we're feeling. Most likely the sensors aren't working right because they're so old…"

"Oh," Sophie said faintly.

Penguin studied the water current. "Anko, there should be an underwater cave around here."

"I see it! Seven degrees down bubble, heading north by northeast." He flicked a few gauges lining the control board. "Taking her down to three-zero-zero meters."

He spun the wheel hard. Law and Penguin braced themselves, but Sophie nearly lost her balance again. "C-careful! The m-mines—"

"Hey, have some confidence," Anko interrupted with a grin. "This is a world-class submarine, and I'm her helmsman."

After steady maneuvering, the submarine found a path through the mines and entered a small cave half-hidden by kelp. The lights illuminated enormous stalagmites and silhouettes of strange fish nestled in its crannies. Sophie drank it all in, like a sponge absorbing water. She'd probably have a better view through a porthole…

"There's a giant rock ahead of us," Penguin alerted. "Judging by the currents, there should be more water behind it, probably leading to an air pocket. We could try using a torpedo, but that might bring down the whole cavern…"

"I have a better idea," Law cut in. "Miss Chemist here swims quite well."

Sophie paused, halfway out the door. Her nose scrunched up in bewilderment. "…Eh?"

Five minutes later, she suited up in a bigger, bulkier version of the Heart Pirates' boiler suits. The pirate in the newsboy hat fixed cylindrical tanks on Pescado Manta's back as Law relentlessly plowed through instructions. They were all gathered in the diving chamber, and Sophie wasn't exactly sure when she fell through an alternate dimension portal into Crazy World.

"This is a bad idea," she said firmly.

Law ignored her. "The cable holds you to the sub and also serves as a communication device in your helmet."

"This is a _really_ bad idea."

"There are various ways you could die, it's true," Newsboy Hat supplied. "Asphyxiation, drowning, arterial gas embolisms…"

"The diving tanks will last for at least one hour, and it's durable in case of impact," Law continued impassively, spinning her around and checking for defects.

"Just because I swim _well_ doesn't mean I regularly go deep-sea diving!" Sophie protested as she waddled in a circle like an oversized duck.

"…animal stings, animal bites, animals swallowing you whole…"

"The suit protects you from the pressure. The gloves are made with a special material that will give you dexterity underwater. All you need to do is attach the explosives." He tapped the bag on Sophie's shoulder.

"…the bends, differential pressure, immersion pulmonary ed—"

Manta flung his wide-brimmed hat into the pirate's face. "Take care of that for me, Hai Xing." As he attached on his helmet, he said to her, "Little lady, you're the only one who knows how to work those things—and not explode in the process. But fear not; I've dived hundreds of times before! You'll be safe with me!" A glint appeared beside his shiny white teeth.

"_This is_ _s-such a bad i-idea_, _I'm already stu-stuttering_."

"Sub rigged for dive, increasing pressure to outside environment," Anko's voice announced from the ceiling.

"Have fun." Smirking, Law closed the door, effectively trapping her and Manta in a small section of the diving chamber.

"Just follow my lead!" Manta boomed encouragingly as the airlock slowly filled up with water. "This'll be as easy as reloading a short-barreled shotgun with your feet in the middle of a bar shootout with twelve guns pointed at your head!"

Sophie was suddenly, frighteningly assured that she was going to die.

As the floor opened up beneath them, she took a deep, steadying breath. There was nowhere to go but down. With a strong kick, Sophie followed Manta into the black depths.

The lights from their suits flickered on, casting shadows across scuttling crabs, mounds of coral, fleeting silhouettes on the ocean floor. Her breath misted on the thick glass of her helmet. She swam down to a swaying anemone, and a bizarre sea creature with tiny little fins peeked out. She stretched out a finger, but it fled back into the anemone. Sophie nearly had a nosebleed then and there.

"Check, check," Penguin's voice appeared in her helmet. "Sophie, can you hear me?"

"Wha—oh, uh, yep. Loud and clear."

"Good, because from the way you're breathing, you're going to use up all your air in ten minutes."

Sophie immediately sucked in a breath and held it.

"Don't do that either! Holding your breath just increases the need to breathe and builds up carbon dioxide in your body. Keep your cool."

She exhaled shakily. Right. Cool. She was cool. She could _totally_ do that.

The light from the submarine cast an eerie blue-green glow over everything. Sophie swam between two stalagmites, tall and ominous. Glowing crystals rippled along the ceiling, a startling contrast of blue and black, light and dark.

Sophie hadn't realized how close she was to the cave's end until the wall emerged from the darkness, looming over her. The Manta guy had floated off somewhere, but she didn't need his help. She dug out her small C4 explosives; they were already wired to a detonator in the submarine, good to go.

Once finished, she touched her helmet to the bombs and pressed her lips to the glass. Precious little things. They weren't so dangerous, not really, not if you handled them right. Like children. Volatile and set for temper tantrums, but acted real sweet if you were nice enough. This was going to be a small, concentrated, precise explosion.

"My babies can do it," Sophie whispered.

"What was that?" Penguin asked.

"N-nothing! What? I didn't say anything. I did the—it's done. We're good. Let me just check a thing." Sometimes Sophie just… _how do you life?_

So fixated on the bombs, Sophie didn't notice a shade in the corner, coiled tight and ready to spring. In the split second when a cold chill ran down her back, she whirled just as the monster _lunged_ and—

—shrieked—an explosion of static in her ear—

The bite never came.

She peeked through her fingers to see Manta floating over her, clutching the creature with one big, beefy hand and steadily choking the life out of it. He carted along two enormous, horrifying fish, red mist clouding the water behind them.

"Already got it, Captain," he reported in. "How does frilled shark for dinner sound?"

Sophie gaped at him as he gave her a thumbs-up. Alright, so there had been a real reason why he had ventured out with her. And that was because Pescado Manta was able to throttle a seven foot shark with one hand, while the other held two sea creatures that probably weighed over three hundred pounds combined.

He was _so cool_.

They swam back to the submarine, and as the water drained out from the diving chamber and the pressure stabilized, Sophie clumsily yanked off her helmet with a big grin. "Let's do that again!"

Manta took one look at her and started laughing.

* * *

The pirates sloshed through the shallow lake, their steps echoing loudly. Uneasy, Sophie appraised the cavern. Under the submarine lights, craggy rocks stood out in jagged relief. The air was unsettlingly stagnant, as though nothing had moved for hundreds of years.

Law stepped up beside her. Without turning, without expression, he said, "Going forward means you don't look back. This is your last chance to get out."

Sophie thought about that for a moment.

Then she gripped the railing and leaped into the water. She slipped a little—shakily caught her balance, _brush it off, brush it off_—and glared at Law over her shoulder with a determined set to her chin. Sophie stalked over to the rest of the pirates. If she had looked for just an instant longer, she would've seen his lips curl up in a small grin.

"There should be tunnels or whatever leading us out of here, right?" Sophie asked as she neared the other pirates.

Shachi rubbed his chin. "Mmmmyeah, should be… SOPHIE-CHAN, LOOK OUT!"

An eight-legged shadow on the wall jumped at her. Screaming, she stumbled back—and then the shadow was doing a little jig, then morphed into a bird and flew away into the darkness. Shachi and the rest doubled over, laughing.

Irritated, Sophie raised an eyebrow. Shadow puppets, _really_. Right after almost being eaten alive by a frilled shark. These pirates needed to be taught something about not being butts. She bent down, clenched a small pebble, and waited until the noise died down.

The pebble splashed by their feet.

"SNAKE!" Sophie bellowed.

The shrieks were disproportionately high-pitched.

Chuckling to herself, she turned and nearly bumped into Hai Xing. The dour pirate seemed a bit… reminiscent. "My father was bit by a snake once. He died."

Sophie squinted. "Sorry… for, uh… bringing back… pained memories?"

"It wasn't painful… at least, not for me." With an enigmatic look, he shuffled away.

Nodachi and medical bag gripped tight in his paws, Bepo walked out onto the deck. Law scanned his surroundings; mossy rocks proliferated higher up than there were on ground-level. Moss only proliferated near water. "Do you hear that?"

Bepo tilted his head, listening. "…Sounds like a river."

A cold droplet splashed on Sophie's cheek. She craned her neck all the way up to the black ceiling of rocks.

Shachi held up his arm, opening and closing his fist. "Kinda looks like a hand."

"Maybe a giant lived here," Bepo snickered.

_The king's might grew so much in his rage that he picked the island up and strode fearlessly into the Sea of Terrors_, Sophie remembered. Or maybe someone as strong as a giant…

"There's our way out," Law declared.

"Captain! We'll be leaving now!" Manta called.

He nodded shortly. "We'll contact you with the Baby Den Den Mushi if we learn anything new. Until then, stay hidden!"

The big man saluted. "Aye, Captain! Stay safe, little lady! Anko, don't get beat up by any more grannies!"

"_Screw you, asshole_!"

Sophie rubbed her neck. "So… how exactly are we going to get up there?"

A blue-green dome enveloped Law and Bepo on the submarine deck, and the other five standing out in the lake. "_Room_."

Sophie was immersed in freezing water. _Mother of pineapples_! She swam furiously and emerged, gasping, in the middle of a shimmering river. Heart pirates were surfacing all around her, breaking apart the reflections of clouds. Shachi and Penguin hoisted a coughing Law up.

Anko kicked a large rock over the gap, stopping the river flow downwards into the cavern. That must be how Law's powers operated, like how he teleported her (and her head) to the galley the other night. Free Modification meant he could manipulate anything within his sphere of influence, such as replacing the rocks along the river bottom with his crewmates. From what Sophie had observed, that _seemed_ to be the gist of the Ope Ope no Mi… splicing, teleportation, substitution… the theoretical possibilities were _fascinating_…

Still, the rotten plum tossed her into a river.

"How about a w-warning n-next time?" Sophie demanded, glowering behind strands of wet hair.

Her only answer was a mocking laugh, if a little out of breath.

Bepo surfaced with a splash and shook himself dry, to the loud dismay of his crewmates. They all looked ridiculous, with their wet, sagging boiler suits. Silt rose up around her ankles as she glided toward the riverbank. Dragonflies skimmed the water. The sounds of nature were back—bees humming, birds cawing, the ripple of grass in the wind. Just like Crawfish Island. She took a moment to bask in it.

Her boots squished as she climbed up the riverbank. She wrung her hair out, wiped the water from her lashes, and opened her eyes.

Rolling fields of sunflowers stretched into the golden-orange horizon. It was as if all her life she'd been wearing blurry glasses and only now, after wiping them clean, she could see how yellow the petals were, how green the grass was, what eternity looked like. The night air was thankfully warm—summertime, most likely. A whisper of a breeze caressed her eyelids and cupped her face.

Something smacked her round the head.

Sophie glared at the rough brown cloak—lots of irregular patches, she was going to have to fix that later—and said very deliberately, "_Ow_."

"Might as well put that on, you're not getting any dryer," Penguin called.

Sophie stuck her tongue out at his back. Nevertheless, she understood the importance of disguise. Especially concerning the Heart Pirates; those boiler suits would give them away in an instant. Better to stick with uniformity than look like the odd pineapple out.

Seven cloaked figures trooped onto a dirt path. In the distance, a castle spire poked into the belly of the sky. Sophie pointed. "That's where we're heading?"

"The capital of Cat's Eye." Law threw his hood up. "Anatole."

* * *

The city had secrets tucked away in her sharp corners and smooth cobblestones, all dimly-lit darkness.

Occasionally Sophie passed men in their fancy hats and women in their airy dresses. Carts rolled beside them, big, fluffy animals plodding sleepily, chickens squawking in the coop. The moon had vanished behind clouds, leaving Anatole a labyrinth of flickering lanterns. Small, burnished, dancing flames, smelling of kerosene. She held up a hand in front of her and studied how her fingers were outlined in orange-gold. She could count the cobblestones before they melted away into the darkness. She could see the rusty brown of the lantern. Light was a glorious thing.

On the way here, the pirates had laid down the plan. They had two days to infiltrate the castle. If they weren't out by then, Manta and the others would assume the worst. Instant code red. If everything went smoothly, they'd be off the island with an Eternal Pose to Ruluka Island and Bepo's weight in gold. And from there she'd take a ship straight to G-13.

"This is a good place," Law announced, stopping.

The Tournesol was everything its name was not. Boarded-up windows, slathered with rusting, peeling paint, creaking under its own weight. There even was something suspicious about the customers; a little too cautious, glancing over their shoulders a little too much.

But the pirates (sans Bepo) threw down their hoods and followed their captain through the doors, and she had no choice but to do the same.

The tavern was packed, buzzing with shouts and the bang of beer mugs against wood. Smells flooded over her, rich and subtle: wood, wine, smoke, warmth. The pirates leered at pretty serving girls, and turned red when they laughed and winked back. Sophie stared intensely at her surroundings, as though trying to burn it into her mind. One door. Thirteen windows, seven unboarded. She began sniffing the wall and only stopped when Penguin squinted at her.

A puckered old woman with a wooden leg came thumping forward. Her right cheek was marred with scars and her right eye was milk-white. Sophie shuddered internally. How unsymmetrical. "Seven o' you? Like this place ain't crowded enough."

Crawfish Island accent, wiry grey hair, sun-browned wrinkles… and a pistol strapped to her hip, Sophie noticed. Old lady was a badass.

"Two rooms," Law said. "Two nights."

She considered Bepo, who was the biggest and most suspicious out of the group. He nervously sidled behind Anko, who was grinning at a rosy-cheeked lady drinking her companions under the table.

"What've you got to trade?"

They had surmised Cat's Eye's only source of economy was bartering. Thank pineapples they'd guessed right. From his medical bag Law pulled out one bottle of painkillers and one bottle of rubbing alcohol. The less they gave, he'd reasoned, the less suspicion they'd raise.

The woman's face lit up. "Done," she said immediately. A minute later, she came back with two large keys, but before handing it over, asked, "Which part of Anatole did ya say y' were from?"

"The hamlets, not the city," Law lied with ease. He had his most disarmingly polite mask on, Sophie could tell just by his voice. It still gave her nightmares sometimes. "Came out from the fields because we're interested in what this fine establishment will provide tonight."

That was new. Sophie stared at the back of his hood, willing him to explain.

The old woman nodded. "Stick 'round, then. Dinner's served, so eat quickly 'fore all the good bread's gone." With that, she bustled away.

Law tossed a key to Sophie, who caught it out of reflex. At their captain's nod, the pirates began dispersing around the tavern (Anko made a beeline for the rosy-cheeked lady), but she stayed where she was. There were people with lots of guns, sitting in the corners. Closed expressions. Pacing. Textbook secrecy, right there.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She knew, _she knew_, and even worse _he'd known it all along_.

The stupid pirate doctor was just beginning to walk away when Sophie swatted him on the arm and forced him to stop. "This—is—a—_rebel_—_hideout_," she snarled through clenched teeth.

Law shrugged off her grip and brushed his cloak. "Of course. How else will we find information?"

Sophie was seized by a massive, almost insane sense of disloyalty to the World Government. This was so _wrong_, it felt so—she was standing on _enemy territory_—if her platoon knew she was taking refuge alongside rebels of any sort, she could never face them again!

"You couldn't have picked someplace a bit more—" she flailed a little, hissing, "not dangerous?"

"Danger makes life interesting," he confided with a smirk.

"Why didn't you tell me_ beforehand_?"

Other tavern-goers glanced over, startled. The amusement vanished in an instant. She was jerked back by a claw on her shoulder, his lips too close to her ear. The door was seven paces behind her and all of Sophie's instincts screamed to run. Or stomp on his foot, which was just so invitingly _there_.

"Let me remind you that _you_ are the one who struck a deal with _me_. The treasure doesn't take a backseat to your indignation. Unless you want to blow our cover and suffer a very gruesome death, I suggest you be more…" the claw dug painfully into her skin, "_flexible_."

She jerked away, rubbing her shoulder. "You don't… trust me." Sophie didn't know why she sounded so—she'd built him a weapon of moderate destruction, stayed the night on his submarine with an unlocked door, let him send her down into the depths of the ocean. She couldn't have done that without at least a _shred_ of confidence he wouldn't murder her where she stood.

Law shrugged. "And you don't trust me either," his grin was small and sly, "remember?"

And yet it felt like he was saying _either way, you're too weak to do anything about it._

* * *

Her room was on the second floor, fourth to the right. She glared at the small and sparse contents—rebel bed. Rebel candle. Rebel bathtub.

Her resolve dented.

The water warmed up quickly and Sophie leaned back with a sigh. Steam rose up in thick, heavy wafts around her. She sat there for a few minutes, staring up at the dark rafters, and then crossly splashed the water. The other pirates were all right (for pirates, anyway), but their _captain_, holy mangoes, how could someone be so _genuinely_ insufferable?

(But it wasn't like he didn't know what he was doing, which maybe-possibly-sort of irritated her more.)

Pain jolted through her shoulder. She craned her neck and examined the sensitive welt. It'd be purple and blue tomorrow, but on the one to ten scale of Suffering at the Hands of Trafalgar Law, bruises rated pretty low.

Being around him seemed to always bring her pain. And the things he'd saved her _from_ were usually caused by him anyway.

The candle flame cast long shadows across the water. Droplets glistened dimly on her skin.

Sophie touched her shoulder and remembered that grin, washed over in red light and delighting in the possibility of death. He seemed to have no fear. She closed her eyes and thought, _Heretic. Such elation is akin to blasphemy. No one man should claim so much power._ She hadn't realized then, but he'd given her a glimpse of his fangs. The nodachi swinging by his hip wasn't the scariest part of Law, nor even his Devil Fruit.

Her fingers tightened briefly. She ducked underwater and rose up again, slicking her hair back.

Though pain was no stranger to her, it'd still be a waste if she'd endured everything that had happened for a two-day adventure in an isolationist kingdom hanging around pirates (_especially_ the hanging around pirates). Strangways Sophie never risked her life for nothing. But her ideas were her own business, and it's not as though Law trusted her with _his _plans.

Sophie sunk lower and steamed quietly.

* * *

After the tavern owner locked the doors and lit the candles, the conspiring began.

Lurking in a shadowed corner, Law propped one foot up on an empty chair and listened. It was a tiresome thing: a list of grievances, accounts of horrors, reminders of past brutalities. The old tavern owner raised her cup when freedom of press was mentioned. He refrained from yawning; he still felt a few gazes on him across the room. They were on guard. Distractions would be necessary when the time arrived.

A young man leaped on a table, scattering plates and cups about his tattered shoes. Couldn't have been older than Shachi or Hai Xing, but there was a feverish glint that made Law look twice. He was no stranger to charismatic insanity.

"It's true not all of us want a rebellion!" he shouted as silence settled over the crowd. "The youngest who've never seen the world outside, and the oldest who want to live out their last days in relative peace. But for us, at least, we will never stop struggling for freedom. We will never be content living in a cage! We will not have our paths laid out for us! We should be able to mark our own destinies upon the world!"

They roared and stamped their feet.

"I would ask you, what is royalty without the people!? Khanwari would not even exist if there is no one to call him king!" He held up his hands, a conductor tuning the orchestra. "The principle of all sovereignty should reside with _us_!"

"_Liberty, equality, fraternity_!" the tavern bellowed in response.

"Women, will you have your rights taken from you!? Or will you be free and equal, to choose where to go and who to love!?"

"Freedom or death!" the serving girls hollered. Anko was yelling with them, looking delighted by his present company.

A shadow on the staircase shifted, drawing his attention. Half-cloaked in darkness, the chemist watched the proceedings through the banisters. Her mouth had a displeased twitch to it.

The chair screeched. Penguin paused in his efforts to fend off a drunk Shachi trying to use his shoulder as a pillow. "Cap?"

"Let him sleep it off. I'll be back soon. Bepo, you're in charge."

The hooded figure preened. Penguin looked scandalized as Shachi began drooling on his arm.

Law creaked up the stairs. Her expression hardened when she saw him and gripped the quilt tighter. The anger was meaningless; they both knew if she made a fuss he would rip out her tongue. She'd looked so wounded when she snapped at him… it was almost impressive how the girl wanted her trust to be reciprocated over one non-binding agreement they'd made on Drum.

Law dropped the tin plate on her knees, balanced with a cup of wine. "Dinner."

The chemist poked the steaming fried bread as if she expected a severed hand to pop out, sniffed it, licked it, side-eyed him with the greatest suspicion, and then nibbled a crumb.

The transformation was instant. Ravenous, she bit off a great hunk of bread and ripped into the chicken leg dripping in fat, hissing when it burned her fingers. The bandages were damp, ah, that explained the smell of soap.

Mouth smeared with grease, she grabbed the wine and took a big gulp. Her expression immediately pinched and she swallowed with agonizing difficulty, glaring wide-eyed at him.

"I don't waste poison. It's actually that bad." Law took a drink from his own cup. Revolting. Granted, not the worst he's ever tasted.

"I'd rather have me a nice cup of black coffee," she muttered, and laughed, sudden and cutting as fragments of glass. "Hippo-sensei used to—" The chemist broke off as instantly as she started and frowned. "Don't get comfortable with me, pirate."

Law leaned closer—she pressed herself against the banisters—and divulged, "I'd never. Now hold out your hands and let me treat your wounds."

Her gaze flitted left and right, as though searching for an escape route. "I—I'll go along with it, but under p-protest."

_Naturally_. He unwrapped the bandages and dabbed ointment on her burns. The scars would never fade away, but they were all superficial and had no effect on her nerve system. The oldest ones were still visible, light brown marks streaking across her palms. It was an ugly sight, but Law found the deformities interesting. Three fingernails had grown back misshapen, and two more were still in the process of reforming. A dark, peeling scar stretched over her scaphoid and trapezium bones. There was a tiny burn right in the middle of her ring finger's distal phalange, shaped like an asterisk.

As he finished bandaging, the tavern floor was getting louder.

"Is it true some o' the king's men are comin' to our side?"

"Our inside informant tells us the soldiers are restless. They're tired of this just as we are! She says with confidence that _half_ their number will throw off the yoke of tyranny and join the cause!" Jacques Straw thrust his fist in the air and the orchestra shuddered. Cymbals crashed, violins trembling.

"We have your back, Jacques Straw!"

"Let's topple that bastard from the throne for good!"

"There should be a better way to deal with their anger," the chemist said, and the music was instantly drowned out. "Like having a piñata in the shape of Khanwari's face and battering it to death. Much more therapeutic. Also, candy." She belched and covered her mouth. "'Scuse me."

There was something rather solid about her complete lack of sympathy. He might've grinned a little. "I highly doubt the effectiveness of that idea."

She shot him a glare that was eerily reminiscent of an angry goose. "You're supposed to go along with these things."

"Ah, my apologies."

Huffing, she wrapped herself in her quilt and squished closer to the banisters. She took well to the dim candlelight; it outlined her sharper and melted away everything that kept her soft. Darkness suited this girl.

"There's nothing you can do," Law said as she kept watching at the crowd, "Get some sleep. They will have their war one way or another."

After several long, motionless seconds, she replied, "The rebels shouldn't be angry with their king. He gave them land and shelter and food for many years. They live reasonably good lives. How dare they be so ungrateful?" A pause. "Did you expect me to say that? The king is terrible. He's performed appalling acts of violence; he _should _be punished for it." She waved at the tavern below. "But what they're doing is still treason."

Spoken truly like the World Government. He ran his tongue along his teeth. "And what about Vira?"

She stiffened. "_What about it_."

They were dancing on a tightrope now. "The former king actively participated in the slave trade and had sixteen mistresses. He fled Vira when the war began, probably around the time you were shipped in. The World Government granted him amnesty for his black market dealings and gave his family political asylum in Mariejois." Law rested his cheek on his knuckles. "But you'd be aware of this already."

She spun her cup between her hands and said nothing.

"Is it treasonous to revolt against oppression that is already violent?" he asked mildly, more out a whim to continue the conversation than any real sympathy for the rebels. On a personal level, he didn't care either way. "Would you rather them be sheep, blindly doing whatever they're told?"

"It is universally accepted that sheep are one of the cutest animals ever, so I wouldn't actually mind that." She slowly took another drink and grimaced only a little. "Freedom is also a responsibility. Listen to what they're saying. It has nothing to do with how they plan to run the kingdom. Have they even thought about the government system? Will it still be—"

She turned away as a hooded woman stepped between them, murmuring an apology. They waited until the footsteps faded up the stairs.

"Will it still be a monarchy? A democratic republic? And who will be the leader? It takes one rigged election for everything to collapse. They say pretty words now, but these people will descend into anarchy, fighting for power like wild animals, if no one is there to guide them. That's how humans are; we're _savage_. We _need _order to survive."

"And here I thought you believed in the goodness of humanity," Law mocked.

"How could I believe that when there are men like you?"

His own chuckle caught him by surprise. She could not have possibly heard the bitterness. "You've never met anyone like me."

"I know a fair number of callous buttwipes back home who can give you a run for your money," she murmured, then paused. "Though to put things in perspective, I'm the first one on that list, so. The Vice Admiral, definitely… his annoying clerk who I may or may not have poured acid on when I was younger… those dweebs from the maintenance division…"

Her fingers tapped like a metronome. There was scientist in the way she touched and smelled and examined. Her eyes spoke military, constantly darting looks at him—not _him, _but where he kept his hands, how near they were to his bag. The burns on her hands would've said negligence, had he not known her. Now they whisper wildness. Love of fire.

"Right. What do you have to say to people who've acquired peace without a monarchy or the World Government?"

They were back to that, which visibly threw her off. Her legs shifted under his gaze. "I know. I know, but—they're the easiest ideas to trust in because they've been done before, hundreds of times throughout history. It's safe. Reasonable. Don't go against the flow. Don't ask questions. Just obey."

The chemist scrunched up her nose and took another drink. Wiping her mouth, she muttered, "Look, I don't even like talking about government. Can't understand most of it, all the stupid politics and whatever. Science is easier. Do what you're told, get it done with, and go back your lab. Why should I disagree with them if they're financing everything I do?" She rested her head against the banisters. Her eyes were red and watery, but that was probably because of the shitty wine. "Make bombs, make chemicals, make poison. So long as I get to do what I want, why should I care?"

This was an interesting turn of events.

Her tone had no trace of bitterness or self-pity—only bland indifference. How illuminating. For all the justice and responsibility she spoke of, this girl wasn't a good person. She seemed to recognize that… and yet still remained desperately devoted. Well. The World Government was doing _something_ right.

"You didn't," he said at last, because sincerity was a harsh weapon. "That's why you made me those explosives and didn't even ask if I was planning to hurt civilians. That wasn't based on trust. That was a decision based on practicality."

She remained still. A quiet whisper came from the quilt: "No one in this world would weep for the deaths of a few ants."

Law froze. He _knew _those words, how did the _fuck did she_—

She tucked her face into her tortoise shell. "Go away. Please_._"

The nape of her neck curved gently. He remembered how the fine tendons fluttered at every stroke, how skinny her wrists were compared to her tough callused hands, not unlike his own. Law was a man of many wants and desires, and they floated through his mind as fleeting as the next: he wanted to touch the intimate soft flesh behind her ear. He wanted to curl a strand of clumpy wet hair around his finger and yank her head back. He wanted to laugh as she squawked and squirmed and snarled.

But later; maybe. Because right now he was sure that if he forced her to look, she would not snarl. She would not even see him. And he didn't want that; of this Law was certain.

He stood and walked away.

Though he wasn't yet aware of it, it was precisely this moment Trafalgar Law stopped thinking of Sophie as 'the chemist'.

* * *

"A storm is coming," Penguin said. "Late afternoon or early evening."

"NOOOOO," Sophie wailed, "OOOOooooooooo_,_" she flopped on the table, "ooooooooooooo," the pirate watched her blankly, "oooooooooo," she clawed the air, "_ooooooooooooo_…"

Penguin chewed on another slice of bacon and went back to studying the map of Anatole.

It was just the two of them sitting in the back corner of the tavern; the other pirates had gone out to scope the castle. Penguin informed her that he was to stay at the Tournesol and learn any new information (not part of the conversation, Sophie had conveniently appeared the second after a certain fuzzy white hat disappeared out the door).

"Anko's here, too." He'd looked at her meaningfully as she tripped over and began inhaling food. "Didn't sleep in his room last night."

She laughed-spat chunks of carbohydrate and saliva into Penguin's face.

"_Sophie_! _Gross_!"

"Ah'm sowwy!"

"Stop _talking_!"

(He kept a careful distance after that.)

"How do you know it's gonna rain _today_?" Sophie dipped her bread in honey and munched. Her hair was frizzier/more bird-nest-like than normal, but she'd attributed that to her chaotic sleeping habits rather than humidity. "The Universe could be pointing a giant middle finger at you. It does that to me a lot."

The shadow of a bird flapped past the window, wings beating like sheets of rustling paper. Crows cawed in the distance.

"See those clouds? They're cumulus mediocris, signs of an oncoming cold front—basically one giant mass of cold air," he explained to her perplexed look. "Since it moves faster than warm fronts and is sloped steeper, it forces warm air higher."

Weak sunlight reflected off the knife blade. Sophie played with the angles, aiming it at the floor and then up at the corner of a customer's face. "Because of the difference in volume?"

Heated molecules vibrated faster, which made them less dense as they expanded. Chemistry fundamentals.

After a few seconds, the man flinched and glanced around. She quickly tilted the knife away and went back to eating her bread. For being surrounded by a bunch of rebels, Sophie felt she was handling herself rather well. Especially considering she had approximately twelve seconds of sleep and spent the rest of the very early morning doing curl-ups.

"Yeah." Penguin was really having a hard time hiding his grin. "That creates condensation when the warm updraft meets the cooler air in the atmosphere, generating a low pressure zone and a narrow band of precipitation. But there are also different ways of finding out. The salt shaker, for example," he pointed as she was beating the shaker with her palm, "Moisture makes salt clump and wood swell." He patted the table. "See? Feels a little damp."

"Hmmmm yes STP and hydrogen molecules, yes good." Sophie stroked her invisible beard.

"…You didn't understand any of that, did you."

"You lost me at 'yeah'."

Penguin gaped. "But it's so basic!"

She instantly became defensive. "You're basic. You're so basic you're practically drain cleaner—shut up."

"Do you _really_ work for the World Government?"

"I will spit food on you again," Sophie warned. Penguin started laughing. She flung bread crumbs at his face.

"Ow, my eye!"

She could synthesize sunlight in a heartbeat, but others areas of science were so annoyingly difficult to grasp. Her platoon had tried to teach her something similar back in the war… when the storms first arrived… aughh think happy thoughts! Happy! Thoughts! _Oooh kitty_…

Dozens of stray cats prowled along the street outside (she made a mental note to hide one in her satchel before leaving. There was something very Old Beauty about Anatole, with her red-roofed houses crammed tightly together and labyrinth of skinny cobbled alleys. In a younger time, she would have been magnificent. Sophie really wished she could have seen it then, when the streets were bustling instead of tumbleweed silent, punctured only by the call of crows.

A burly ox covered in white wool clopped by. Sophie plastered herself against the window. There may have been drool and heavy breathing involved.

"Fluffy Oxen. Draft animals native to this island," Penguin muttered distractedly over the map.

"_Can we steal one please_."

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "Is there a _point_ to it?"

"CUTE."

"…Is there any _other_ point to it?"

She mimicked his exhausted drawl and dialed it to ten thousand levels of obnoxiousness, "Does there _haaaaave _to be?"

He ignored her after that, but let her steal his leftover bread. Smearing sunflower butter over it, Sophie watched the tavern owner fuss behind the counter. It reminded her of a different woman on a different island with burned legs and scarlet lips and purple eyes.

She licked the buttery knife and examined her reflection. Something fluttered on the edge, right above her in the corner of the window. In her blind spot.

"Wait," Penguin said suddenly, "you shouldn't—"

Stark against the cold grey sky, three naked corpses swayed in the breeze. _Kingswhores_ had been carved across their red bellies_._ Crows circled around them, cawing and pecking. She'd been listening to those birds the whole time.

"Kingswhores," Sophie repeated. They had been loyalists. Or wives of loyalists. Or mothers, or sisters, or daughters. "They were swinging right o-over me this whole time, and you d-d-didn't even—" she didn't know how her voice sounded so calm when all she wanted to do was punch Penguin in the throat, "I was _laughing_—"

She broke off, breathing hard. Kingswhores, they'd cursed those women.

_Kingswhores_.

"I'm—sorry, I didn't think you needed to see… or even… wanted to."

"Do you think they were raped?"

He jerked a little and their gazes met. Sophie didn't so much as blink.

"…Most likely." He straightened out the yellow brim of his hat. "Yes."

The crows were shrieking. Laughing.

The knife rested over the table, point first. She twirled it with the tips of her fingers. "If th—" She took another breath to calm down. "If this was the World Government, the murderers would've received a court martial. After that, a long rope and a short drop." The light curved along the blade. _When I come back with G-13, I'll make them all pay. Everyone on this island will get what they deserve._

"Our priority is the gold," he reminded her. "Whatever you plan to do, it comes second."

Her jaw clenched. She covered that up with a snort. "Don't worry. I follow orders for a living. Besides, if I do anything to compromise your crew, Law-san will have my head. _Again_."

"True enough." Penguin rolled up the map and stood. "I'm going to contact the sub. I'll be back later."

A part of Sophie wondered if Law ordered him to stay not to gather information, but to keep tabs on her. "You trust me here all on my lonesome?"

"I trust you," he said firmly, "not to do anything stupid."

"Because your captain will kill me," she concluded.

"No." Penguin pressed his palm flat on the table and leaned over. "Because I will. If I have to."

Why did conversations with pirates always end so seriously? And… badly-sounding for her? Sophie was not liking this recurring theme. "You walk like a hyperventilating dinosaur!" she called after him.

His back became noticeably straighter and stiffer as he climbed the stairs. She sunk low in her seat.

To think she was so nearly on the road to the valley that led to the river by the path towards _trusting a pirate_. The very thought was as terrifying as mismatched socks. A flick of her lighter later and Sophie exhaled smoke, looking around the room. The tavern owner seemed to be having difficulty cracking open the lid of a barrel labeled salted pork. This would make a decent conversation opener.

"Hi!" Sophie popped up, smiling brightly. "Want some help there?"

The tiny old woman wiped her brow. "That'd be 'ppreciated." She handed Sophie the crowbar. The scars on her cheek wiggled when she smiled.

Sophie pretended to push. "Any estimates on the king's army? Numbers and weapons and all that? I know I should probably know, but… I… don't know." _Pineapples, Sophie, if you were any smoother you'd be a row of metal spikes_.

"They're numberin' nearly ten thousand, not includin' the loyalists. Our informant listed at least two hundred cannons, though 'bouts fifty are in disrepair. They have 'em muskets, too, an' the guard towers."

"And our side?"

"Ten thousand as well. Still, it's about a sixth of Anatole's overall population. We have a road of brambles ahead of us, hm?"

Ten thousand wasn't bad at all. Four, maybe five G-13 warships could handle that. This was going to be way simpler than she'd expected. Sophie pushed once on the crowbar and the lid immediately popped off. "Was salted pork always this black and… gunpowder-y?"

The old woman merely laughed like she'd told a particularly amusing joke. "Put that behind the counter, will ya? We'll need that for later."

"One last question," Sophie huffed, tugging the barrel over. "What happened to those women outside? The ones…" She examined the fleshy, vulnerable back of the old woman's neck. Her hands curled. "…Strung up."

"Terrible business. Terrible for business!" She turned suddenly—Sophie casually set the barrel on her foot and fell against the wall—while groping for the broom. "Those stupid lugs would hang 'em right out my tavern! I dunno who did it, but if I did, I'd kick their asses straight into the river. Have a nice cold bath t' clear their damned tiny brains. The soldiers will be on us like a pack o' bloodhounds. I keep on tellin' 'em, we ain't ready yet!"

Sophie handed the broom over and muttered, "It's vulgar."

"'Course it is, " she said briskly. "Just as vulgar as when the king chopped off my husband's head an' paraded it on a spike. Ah, I forgot—y' were probably too young to remember. We ran a newspaper, him and I. Got pretty popular, too. The king didn't like that so much."

Sophie made a noncommittal noise which could be taken for sympathy or awe (tip four of Hippo's etiquette lectures). The old woman patted her with the handle of the broom and craned her neck as five men walked in the tavern. "Welcome! Grab a seat wherever ya like, we got a breakfast special of duck eggs, warm bread, an' ale."

"I hope it's not laced with poison." Sophie recognized that lean stature and needle-sharp smile—he was the orator last night, Jacques Straw. He'd be served the rope, naturally.

"Ah, hush, with you sayin' that it ain't a joke. My alcohol's just as cheap an' disgustin' as the next inn over."

Sophie tuned out their laughter as she watched the men proceed past her. They all wore the same sunflower-shaped cockades on their hats and pistols on their belts, and were greeted loudly by the other rebels. Ringleaders, she saw instantly, and memorized their faces and marked them for death row.

"Could they have done it?" Sophie asked after they left. "Killed those women, I mean."

The old woman glanced at her, then went back to sweeping. "Jacques Straw? No. But the others… Danton, Brissot, Roux, Couthon… I can't be certain. Don't dwell on it," she said as Sophie's expression darkened. "Think of the future instead. Soon, you'll be free to go anywhere in the world. You'd like Crawfish Island. Quiet, kinda sleepy place. Great big swamps everywhere, though; y' should seem 'em at least once in your life."

_Not after Doflamingo burned them down_. Sophie kept her lips pressed around the cigarette and smiled.

"Most nights y' can see some strange glowing lights bobbin' through the trees," she said wistfully. "Lost spirits, I used t' call 'em."

"That's… pretty cool…" Sophie's brow furrowed, her memory itching.

Before she could place exactly what had felt so _off, _the floor knocked. Three long, three short, three long. It came from right underneath her feet. Sophie stumbled aside as the old woman brushed past her and thumped the broom handle. A second later, a small trapdoor opened up and a pale, sweaty face shadowed by a purple hood peeked out, a burning torch in one hand.

The old woman gaped. "What're you _doin_' here? If the king found out—"

"Is that a smuggling tunnel?" Sophie broke in. It was a short drop into the darkness, and the stone walls glistened with cobwebs. There was a faint whisper of a breeze she wasn't sure was imagined.

"The soldiers are advancing." The girl gulped for breath, glancing at Sophie. "Their arrival is imminent; we have been compromised. You and Jacques Straw must leave for a safe house."

"Tha—that's imposs—how did they know?"

"They must have their own informant, I am unsure, I rushed over immediately when I heard!"

The old woman looked as though she'd been forced to swallow a barrelful of her own cheap ale. "But last night you told us there were soldiers who wanted to come to our side—"

"A falsity," she whispered hoarsely. "Jacques Straw asked me to. No soldier will forsake the king. It was—it was to boost morale, you see. To give hope in a desperate hour. I must return before anyone discovers I am missing, please, you must _leave at once_!"

She fled back into the darkness with her flaming torch and the old woman slammed down the hatch.

Sophie drummed her fingers against her elbows. She needed to warn Penguin and Anko, but first… "So whatcha gonna do?"

"There's no time to run," she murmured. "We must fight." Wait—what, _no_!But Sophie could only stare as her face twisted like the bark of an ancient swamp tree. "Jacques Straw! Citizens! Khanwari's soldiers are plannin' to smoke us out! _This is the time to stand_!"

As if she flipped a switch, the rebels instantly stood up and drew their weapons, shouting at each other. "Olympe, begin the evacuation!" Jacques Straw was ordering as he loaded his pistol, "Danton, send out a third of our troops to the guard towers! We'll take those closest to the city; they have cannons! Invaluable cannons!"

The havoc became a blur of noise to Sophie as she wrenched the old woman aside, screaming, "Not yet, you said you weren't _ready _yet!" She needed more time for G-13 to get here, she could _fix this_ if they just _let her_!

She shoved Sophie away with much more strength than a half-blind old lady should have. "Are _you _the spy!?"

Sophie stumbled into the wall, horrified. Her heart thudded in her throat. "N-no… _No_!"

Faster than she could blink, the old woman pulled out a shotgun from underneath the counter and pointed the black tunnel of the barrel straight at Sophie. The darkness was infinite, like the ocean current dragging her down down down and Doflamingo's laughter turned into pink crows _peckpeckpecking_ out her lungs.

Her vision swam dizzyingly. Her breath came out in short, frantic spurts and her heartbeat wouldn't stop racing. _Oh god,_ Sophie thought faintly, _what's happening to me?_

"From the hamlets, my ass. You won't stop me from goin' home. I don't even remember what my daughter looks like, they took me away from her so long ago." Those scars seemed to come alive, like writhing, furious snakes. Her white eye blew open in rage. "They left Helene to _burn_!"

Still disorientated but managing to grasp the imminent danger, Sophie tore the cigarette from her mouth and swung back her arm.

The doors blasted apart, roaring swears, and—

She was back in a trench, laden with heavy medical supplies. A cacophony of exploding mortar shells, blazing pistols, and garbled yells rang through the smoky haze. She wasn't Sophie the hitchhiking chemist, but Sophie the combat medic who had never been anywhere but—

And then she was back in the Tournesol, on her feet, ashen-faced.

The green-armored soldiers aimed their muskets at the rebels, who responded in turn by pointing their weapons, the old woman included. Forgotten in the corner, knees trembling, Sophie slid down the wall and discovered how to breathe again.

"YOU ARE HARBORING TRAITORS IN THIS TAVERN," a soldier bellowed gratingly. "IF YOU DON'T RELEASE THEM, WE WILL BE FORCED TO FIRE. WE ARE THE KING'S MEN, WE SPEAK WITH THE KING'S VOICE, AND YOU ARE REQUIRED BY LAW TO OBEY THE KING."

"The king sure has an annoying voice," someone near her muttered.

This was it. She had to escape. Get the gold and sail to G-13 as soon as possible. One door. Thirteen windows, seven unboarded. She could make a run for it. Penguin and Anko could find their own way out; they were both stronger and faster than her. She gripped her satchel, where she'd snuck in a few small bombs made with the witch doctor's leftover chemicals… if she timed it just right…

"OUR PURPOSE HERE IS TO BRING THE REBEL JACQUES STRAW AND HIS CO-CONSPIRATOR, ROMARIN, TO THE KING."

Romarin.

Why did that sound so—

Her bike. Sid—Sid gave her a bike. Roma-chan. It burned down in Crawfish Island, but Romarin was still alive and Romarin was—

_Crawfish island reporters, a daughter… Helene…_

'_My ma used to tell me they were wayward souls. Hitodama.'_

The cigarette fell from her limp fingers. Sophie felt the world open up beneath her feet. The old woman's right eye was milk-white, but her left… purple.

* * *

"Manta, you have the ships in sight!?"

"Just barely; they're still a long ways from the island." The Baby Den Den Mushi was calm, unlike its sibling which must already be dried up from all the sweat pouring down its little snail body.

"And the colors they're flying?" Penguin demanded, restlessly smoothing out his hat brim.

"Hold on, I'm adjusting the periscope… it looks like… something blue on a white field… I think it's—"

Footsteps thundered down the hallway; the Tournesol seemed to be shaking on its very foundation. In the street below, people were coming out of their houses with pitchforks raised. The floor rumbled unsteadily.

Penguin turned ashen. "What the_ hell _are they doing here!?"

* * *

Shock hit Sophie like a Buddha'd Sengoku slamming into an Elbaf giant… which would be just as entertaining as it would be destructive. She'd pay good money to see that in action…

HOWEVER!

Romarin. She pulled a gun on her and was very nearly about to _kill her _and she was _Romarin_. But Nellie thought her parents were both dead. Oh, pineapples, _Nellie_. She should know. Right? _Right_!? (Sophie was sawing off her fingernails with her teeth at this point.) What were the chances the Heart Pirates would say yes to her kidnapping a violent old lady and bringing her onboard?

"The hell's going on?"

Sophie peeked over the counter. Anko stepped off the stairs, right in the middle of the stare-down. The whole tavern seemed to blink as one.

And then a gunshot ripped through the silence and people were shouting and there was white on red on white. Anko curled up on the floor, his stomach bleeding and his mouth violently scarlet, gasping, "Shit—and I was having such a good morning—"

Freaking freaking _freaking freaking_!Sophie immediately dropped to the floor and crawled past the counter. _Think, Sophie, think_! She could drag him away by the feet if they were all looking the other way. Good plan. If Law knew she'd tried to help his stupid crewmate before he died, he might not totally kill her.

Jacques Straw jumped on the table just in front of her (_stop being so dramatic!_ she wanted to scream). She stopped short and bit out all the fruits in the Rutaceae family. Anko was bleeding out just barely two yards from her.

"You can kill one person, but we'll never die!" The tavern bellowed in agreement.

"I'm still alive, morons," Anko gargled weakly from the floor.

"…Never mind that! We are all prepared to give our lives to this cause! Brothers and sisters, we stand together!" He cocked his pistol and there was some otherworldly light glowing above him, shining down from the heavens. "The voice of the people is the voice of god! We are the kingdom and the kingdom is us!"

A soldier shot point-blank.

Jacques Straw fell with a thump. His eyes, widened in surprise, bore straight into Sophie's—passionate, charming, dead.

That was when the screaming began.

She still heard everything, the gunfire, the panicked voices, the running, but it all blurred slowly together like colored dye spreading through water. The corpse wouldn't stop staring at her. And reaching, like he was trying to say—_come here_. A pool of red and bits of grey spread across the wood. A little more acne and lowered cheekbones, and he would've looked a bit like one of the junior scientists back at the lab. What was that scientist's name again? She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember anything, suddenly.

Something wrapped around her waist and the world _jerked_. The face above hers was streaked in crimson. Penguin. He hoisted her up; her legs were shaking nearly as hard as her hands. "I'll hold them back!" he shouted, "Find Captain!"

"A-Anko-san—he was h-h-hur—hur—"

The smell of singed flesh and blood was overwhelming. There were still people fighting through the haze. She glanced down at the corpse of Jacques Straw and had to force down her breakfast.

He looked at her warily. "Are you going to throw food in my face again?"

She pushed away from him, biting back the urge to vomit over his boots out of spite. A fire was starting in the back corner. Ah, snap, the gunpowder.

"I'll take care of Anko! _Go_!"

"B-b-but—"

Penguin gripped her shoulders. "I thought you said you could follow orders!?"

All the molecules of the universe realigned and snapped together. She had an objective. A purpose. Everything else could come later.

_Going forward means you don't look back._

Sophie snapped to attention."U-understood. Watch out for the g-gunpowder!"

And she was running past the swinging corpses and dodging around panicked crowds. Penguin said the pirates were scoping the castle, but as she narrowly escaped the third riot (and a flying bloodied saucepan), Sophie realized it'd be too dangerous to go by ground.

_Square numbers. Detergent. Bleach. Soap._ The cloak would get tangled up in her feet, so she unlaced it and let it blow off into the howling wind. _Freshly-cut fingernails. The smell of antiseptic._ Leaped on the wall and grabbed the edge of a windowsill, knees scraping. Just like a training exercise. _Four. Nine. Sixteen. Twenty-five._ Swayed to the side and found an overhanging beam _(don't look down don't look down),_ muscles stretched taut. Climbed higher and higher. _Thirty-six. Forty-nine. Sixty-four. Eighty-one._

Sophie pulled herself up with a grunt and balanced on the ridge, surrounded by a sea of gritty red roofs against an iron-grey sky.

Half the city was in flames.

Everywhere she turned, it was the same: furniture tossed out of windows to form barricades and soldiers and rebels gunning each other down on the streets. Smoke billowed out over the southern end of the city. Distant booms heralded the cannonades. Just one block away, a ramshackle building was swallowed by fire and collapsed with a mighty groan.

A tile creaked behind her.

Sophie spun, grabbed the outstretched forearm and slammed him into the roof, digging her knee into his back. Her messy ugly _livid_ snarl vanished as she took in the brown cloak and newsboy hat.

Expression bland as always, Hai Xing glanced over his shoulder. "If you're planning on killing me, might as well hurry it up. I warned Captain you were going to double-cross us."

She grabbed the scruff of his cloak and slammed him back down, screaming, "Your comrades are back there f-f-fighting alone! _Anko-san m-may be dead_!"

He stared down at her bloodied bandages. Their gazes met—_wait,_ she was about to say, _not their blood_, but he shoved her aside with enough force to send her stumbling. "_Come on_!" he shouted, sliding down the tiles and disappearing off the edge.

Those freaking pirates, _honestly_! Sophie took a half-second to catch her breath and slid down after him.

Her feet slipped against the tiles and in a gut-wrenching tug, she was thrown into the wind. For one horrifying moment she thought she must've tripped, but then pain ripped through her scalp as her head jerked back, a gasp catching in her throat.

_Oh, pineapples._

_I would've preferred tripping, thanks._

Then nothing.

* * *

There were no footsteps behind him. Hai Xing skidded to a stop. "Strangways?"

A huge blast rocked the buildings around him. Thick black trails of smoke came from the direction of the Tournesol.

* * *

Sophie woke up with a strained wheeze, heartbeat thundering frantically. A shadow flickered over her, enemy alert, _enemy alert_! She was moving in a split-second: shot up, kicked away the weapon, and dug her open hand into the soft flesh around her mouth.

The girl's whimpers were muffled as Sophie lifted her up easily with one arm. Pretty slippered feet swayed over the rug.

She couldn't have been but two or three years older than Sophie, draped in a loose white dress. Long nose, small chin, eyes as dark as auburgines… the girl from the Tournesol. Sophie flinched. Anko getting shot, Jacqes Straw dead, the old lady with the name Romarin—it was all coming back. Her fingers tightened viciously.

"Name, location, motive," Sophie snarled.

"Odin," the girl rasped, "_stop_."

A slow, cold shiver ran up her spine. Sophie looked up.

A hulking beast of a man loomed over her, so massive his head brushed the tapestry on the ceiling. Scars crisscrossed his arms, neck, and what little of his misshapen head the iron mask couldn't cover. Even though he filled up practically a third of the room, she hadn't noticed his presence at all. Even though his enormous fist was frozen in the air—right over her head.

The girl tapped her. "It would be advisable to release me."

Sophie did.

Her back hit the bookcase. The mask had two pitch-black holes to see and a jagged slit to breathe. Dog tags glinted on his chest. He somehow reminded her of a bull—like he could bulldoze her over any second. Sophie clutched her arms to stop herself from trembling.

"This is Odin. He is not exactly garrulous, but he will not harm you. He brought you here on my orders." She patted him as though he were some grotesque pet, and cleared her throat. "I am Lisbeth, first of her name, daughter of King Khanwari and heir to the Sunflower Kingdom." She picked up the damp cloth Sophie had kicked away earlier. Her voice was as soft as crushed velvet. "This is my bedchamber in the castle. You are safe here."

"No, no, no, no—that is w-what literary junkies c-call a hy-burp-ole."

"Oxymoron," she corrected.

"No need for rudeness." Sophie slouched on a plush chair, catching her breath. "Okay. _So._ We have a rebellious princess spying for rebels and her…" Odin remained silent. Sophie waved her hand, "…weird creature thing who is p-probably going to t-torture me for information. Should inform you I know e-eighteen ways of k-killing myself," she set her tongue between her teeth, "tho you may wanna ma' this quichk."

"Unnecessary! Abundantly, capaciously, uh, uh, u-undividedly unnecessary!" She clutched her braid like it was an anchor. "I know you found a way inside Cat's Eye! And I know you are from the World Government."

"You're… wrong?" Sophie tried, trying not to look as startled as she felt.

"I was at the Tournesol yesterday. I traversed up the length of the staircase and we were in close proximity for a short moment, and I… overheard your colloquy with the gentleman in the white hat. There will be no torture or harm or any egregious action of any sort, you have my word. Please… do not…"

At least she didn't know said gentleman was actually a cutthroat pirate out for her gold. But here was the real kicker: Khanwari and Lisbeth were both World Government-affiliated royalty she had taken oaths to obey. They were both legitimate and had formidable powers backing them up. And from the… _minute _or so she'd known her, it was glaringly obvious this princess was an ocean saner than her father.

Exhaling, Sophie leaned back. "Fine. You know who I am. What now?"

This whole thing was falling apart faster than she'd expected.

_to be continued_


End file.
